Book Four and Three Quarters
by Mab1
Summary: Harry, Ron and Hermione go to finish their holidays with Sirius. But all does not go to plan, and soon they find they have to return to Hogwarts... Please read and review!
1. Default Chapter

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BOOK 4 ¾ 

~ For Paffy ~

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters sob - I've just borrowed them to play with while I wait for JKR to write the next book. I've brought them back all in one piece, though… (well, more or less.)

Rating: No slash, no sex – not even too much violence. Lame, hey? Read on… 

The boy called Harry Potter stared out of the tiny window, and sighed. A white owl sat on his shoulder, tweaking his ear with her beak, and Harry rubbed her feathers absently with an affectionate finger.

"Oh, Hedwig," he said miserably. 

That summer was the worst Harry had ever had. Not because Dudley was back off his diet and insisting that he eat all of Harry's food as well as his own, not because Aunt Petunia had decided her little Dudders should take up some kind of sport instead, and suggested he practise his aggressive yoga on Harry; it wasn't even because Uncle Vernon had threatened to handcuff him to the piano if he uttered a single word about Hogwarts or his wizarding friends. No, it was the worst summer of Harry's fourteen years because Sirius Black had sent him an owl asking if he, Ron and Hermione would like to go and stay with him in his house – and there wasn't a thing Harry could do about it.

Sirius Black was Harry's godfather. He was also a convicted murderer – in both the magic and muggle worlds – accused of a crime he hadn't committed, and hiding from the Ministry of Magic. Harry had been delighted to hear from him: he wanted nothing more than to spend the remainder of the holiday with him, and his two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. He wasn't worried about the danger of Sirius being caught – in his letter, Sirius had said that he was safe where he was, and Harry believed him. He knew Sirius would never place him or the others in danger if he could help it.

But there was simply no way that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would let him go. Although scared at the prospect of Harry having a homicidal maniac as a guardian, they had both nonetheless sternly forbidden Harry to bring up the subject

"But why?" Harry had asked, exasperated over breakfast one morning. "You want to get rid of me – I want to get out – so why don't you just let me go?"

"That'll be enough of that, boy," Uncle Vernon had said, furiously, toast crumbs flying from his mouth as he spluttered. "One more word – _one more word_ – and it'll be the piano for you."

Harry had quickly learned to dislike the piano thoroughly: the last time Vernon had left him there, Dudley had came and jumped repeatedly up and down on the keys, making loud discordant noises very close to Harry's head. He hadn't stopped until Aunt Petunia had called him in for lunch – which, naturally, Harry wasn't given – and his ears were still ringing. That had been two weeks ago. 

So Harry sat in his small room, looking wistfully out of the window, being careful not to make any noise that might make his Aunt or Uncle remember he was there and shout at him to mow the lawn or some equally tedious task, and waited hopefully for more owls from Ron, Hermione or Sirius. But the days wore on, and still no news came.

And then, a month after Sirius's invitation and Harry's reluctant refusal, Pigwidgeon arrived. 

Pigwidgeon – or Pig, as Ron, his owner, called him – was a small and highly excitable owl that more closely resembled a bundle of brown feathers. He flew straight in through Harry's open window one night, his little bullet-shaped body diving into Hedwig and rebounding, and landed breathlessly on top of Harry's bed. His fingers fumbling with the knots, Harry hurried to untie the letter strapped to his leg, Pig hooting at him affectionately all the time: scared that the noise would wake His Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon, Harry apologised quickly to the little owl before deftly snapping an elastic band round his beak and receiving an extremely indignant peck for his troubles. Harry ignored his bleeding fingers, and read the letter.

__

Dear Harry, it read.

__

Just had an owl from Sirius – he's invited us to go and stay with him! I can't believe it. Hermione says she got one, too. When can you come? My mum says she'll pick you up and take us to wherever Sirius wants to meet us. I can't believe she agreed to it, especially after her reaction the last time she saw Sirius… Anyway, I hope you're not having too many problems with the Muggles this year – I told my mum we're going to have to use a caxi (sp?) to come and get you this time, because I don't think that your uncle approved of the floo powder. Fred and George want to come to fetch you too, so make sure that Dugley or whatever his name is stays inside. On second thoughts, don't: they've just invented these cool new sweets called hubble gum which make you blow bubbles that trap your head, and you can't get out of them until you use up all the oxygen. Then they burst. I don't know where they got the money from. Mum went mental when she tried one. I think she's re-writing her will to disinherit them. 

Anyway, send Pig back A.S.A.P. I can't wait to see Sirius again – and you and Hermione, of course. See you soon.

Ron.

Harry re-read the letter twice, glumly, and then folded it up and tucked it into his pocket. He hated to let Ron and the others down – but what could he do? There had to be something…

He looked up in shock as a shadow fell across his face and, as his eyes finally focused on a dark shape, he realised it was another owl. It swooped and landedgracefully next to Pigwidgeon on the bed, who sidled up to it and started trying to make friends. 

Harry took the letter from the second owl's leg, and his heart grew even heavier. This one was from Hermione. 

__

Dear Harry,

How are you? Have you had a good summer? Have you been doing much work? I've just finished reading the book list for next year's courses, they're all absolutely fascinating. And I've been brushing up on my – 

Harry put the letter down and gave a hollow laugh, that was echoed eerily by Hermione's owl. On closer inspection, he saw it was in actual fact a parrot: wondering idly where she'd got one from, he picked the letter back up, skipping over the details of Hermione's homework and holiday 'fun'. Hermione's idea of leisure was a library the size of London, and Harry had scanned through at least two thirds of the letter before he began to read it properly again.

__

I got an owl from 'Snuffles' (you know who!) the other day, it continued, _and he told me he's asked us to go and stay with him. Harry, do you think it's safe? I know he said it was, but with You-Know-Who around again, I'm not so sure. But if you and Ron are going I will too: I had an owl from Ron's mum yesterday saying that she'll pick me up and take us there. _

Do you like Herbert (the parrot)? I bought him a few weeks ago. He and Crookshanks don't get on particularly well, and he spends most of his time on our roof. Mum and Dad don't approve. They didn't like my teeth, either. Write back as soon as possible. 

Love, Hermione

Harry screwed the letter up and threw it at Herbert, who was leering at Hedwig, and felt even worse. But he was beginning to build up the determination to leave: images of him, Ron, Hermione and Sirius sitting happily out in the sun kept invading his mind and suddenly he couldn't bear it any longer. Grabbing up his quill and two scraps of parchment, he began to scribble furiously. 

__

Dear Ron, he wrote, blotting the ink with the oversized sleeve of one of Dudley's hand-me-down T-shirts (that dangled inches over his hands). He ignored the smudges, and carried on.

__

I'm going to leave, tomorrow. I don't know how, yet, but I'll think of something. I can't stand staying cooped up here much longer. Tell Hermione. Ask your mum to tell the taxi (T.A.X.I., Ron – and wear Muggle clothing if you want the driver to let you into his car) to drop you at Privet Drive and I'll meet you outside. I hope Pig gets this to you tonight. I'll write and ask Sirius where to meet us…

Harry suddenly stopped writing. Yet another owl, this time a long eared, brown one with huge amber eyes had flown straight into the inkpot and knocked its contents everywhere.

"Damn," muttered Harry, knowing he'd have to somehow clear the mess up before his Aunt or Uncle saw it. Another reason to leave soon, he thought. He made a swipe at the owl's leg; but this owl seemed to want to play, and there ensued a bizarre game of silent hide and seek as Harry blundered around in the dark after the flying owl, who hooted now and again. Pig was getting excited, and fell off the bed nearly to the floor before he remembered he could fly. 

Finally Harry snatched the big bird down from where it was gliding around by the ceiling, and tore the letter off its leg. The owl glared at him, and he glared back. 

__

Harry, said the letter.

__

I know you want to come and stay with me really – or are the Dursleys really that nice? I didn't think so. Find a way to get out tomorrow and meet me at a place called Hog's Back – it's quite close to Surrey. Not hard to find. Bring Ron and Hermione: see you there tomorrow at 6 o'clock. 

Sirius. 

Harry suddenly broke into a grin, and patted the owl on the head. It stabbed its beak at him, angrily, but Harry ignored it and scrawled out a quick note on the second piece of paper.

__

Dear Sirius,

Meet you at Hog's Back at 6, then. Is that really a place? See you later.

Harry,

P.S. you're a much better alternative to the Dursleys, don't worry.

Wrapping it tightly round the brown owl's leg using the elastic band he had tied Pig's beak up with, Harry carried the owl bodily over to the window and thrust it through. The owl hooted twice and flew away, and Harry turned back to the letter he'd been writing to Ron. He crossed out the bit that said he'd write to Sirius, and said instead:

__

Sirius will meet us at a place called Hog's Back at 6 o'clock, so meet you at about 4? 

See you tomorrow! Can't wait either.

Harry

And suddenly things looked like they were going to improve. Harry managed to bundle Pigwidgeon out through the window, prayed he'd make it all the way back to Ron's in one piece, then flung himself onto his bed and promptly fell asleep.


	2. 2

Next morning, Harry woke up earlier than usual – before his Aunt Petunia could bang on his door with the skillet – and began to plan his escape. He needed to be outside, and he needed to have all the equipment he'd be taking to Hogwarts with him if he was going to go there straight after Sirius's. That wouldn't be too difficult, he thought ruefully: Uncle Vernon had made him stack it all away in the shed at the bottom of their garden where the spiders lived. So all he needed now was an excuse to be out of the house at four o'clock, ready to be picked up by the Weasleys. Harry didn't want to think about what might happen if Ron hadn't got his owl in time. He should have sent Hedwig with him. 

But try though he might to rack his brain, he couldn't think of a single way he could get out of the house all day. It was boiling hot outside, and he'd give anything to be out there rather than scraping the inside of the oven, which was what he was presently doing. With a shock, Harry suddenly realised that it was already three o'clock: suddenly panicking, he finished cleaning the oven quickly, and walked into the sitting room.

"What are you doing?" asked Dudley, not looking up from where he was blowing up dwarfs on his Gameboy. 

"Where's Uncle Vernon?" said Harry, ignoring him. 

"I asked you a question, runt," said Dudley, finally bringing his pendulous jowls up to stare at Harry, a smudge of chocolate visible round his chubby nose. Harry tried hard to look at him without gagging. 

"And I asked you one," retorted Harry shortly. He didn't have the time to have a fight with Dudley. 

As if sensing his reluctance to argue, Dudley abruptly changed tack. "My dad said your dad was a coward," he said suddenly, and Harry, taken aback, was unable to speak before Dudley continued. "And a thief," he added. "A coward and thief and a basta– "

Suddenly, Harry lunged at Dudley, and rugby tackled him to the floor. He got in two good punches before Dudley rolled over and straddled Harry, his enormous weight almost squashing the air out of him. Harry lunged upwards with his knee and Dudley howled in anguish – bringing Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to the door immediately. They took in the scene – Dudley sat on top of a nearly hyperventilating Harry – before rushing over and stroking Dudley's lank fair hair. Harry didn't know how they could bear to touch it.

"Poor ickle darling Dudders," cooed Aunt Petunia. "What's wrong, my little possum?" 

Dudley sobbed into her shoulder, massaging himself tenderly. Harry couldn't quite suppress a grin. Uncle Vernon seized his shoulder, and dragged him out from underneath Dudley, bringing his face up to inches away from his own. 

"You leave your filthy hands off of my boy, d'you hear me?" he snarled. "Now get out. _Out_. Mow the lawn – now. And when you've finished, do it again. If I find one single blade of grass out of place, I'll have your hide, boy… I'll put you _in_ the piano, not just next to it, get it? Out, out, out!" By the time Uncle Vernon had finished, he was almost screaming in anger – but Harry didn't care. In fact, he could have hugged Uncle Vernon: he couldn't have arranged the situation better himself. 

"Fine!" he exclaimed happily. "I'd love to!" Uncle Vernon squinted at him suspiciously, but Harry was gone from the house, sprinting down the to shed where – along with his Hogwarts stuff – the lawnmower was kept. Perfect, he thought. He forced everything into one heavy suitcase, and whistled for Hedwig. She came flying out through his bedroom window and landed on top of the shed. 

"Ready to go?" he asked her, scratching her head and trying hard to stop the grin he was wearing from splitting his face in two. Hedwig blinked at him, and then he could have sworn she winked. Harry spent the most enjoyable hour he'd ever had mowing the lawn, and at ten to four he put the lawnmower back into the shed, and exchanged it for his bag. Peering cautiously round the corner to see if he was being watched by Aunt Petunia, he saw the lace curtain twitch slightly. Damn.

Still, Harry didn't care. He could easily outrun Aunt Petunia… His robes and suitcase in one hand, and Hedwig clinging onto the other, he made a sudden dash for it. Down the gravel drive, past the window… quick… 

"WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING?" Uncle Vernon's voice roared at him, and Harry's grin grew even wider. He was nearly there, he was going to make it…

"Bye!" he called cheerfully over his shoulder. "Have a nice summer!" Hedwig decided to make things easier by flying, and Harry switched his suitcase over to his other hand. He could hear the sound of Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps pounding after him and was surprised that his huge feet didn't make holes in the pavement – but he rounded the corner and parked there, glistening in the sunlight, was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever seen. A black taxi.

"Quick!" he shouted, flinging the door open and plucking Hedwig out the sky, shoving her in, ignoring her ruffled feathers and the reproachful look she threw at him. The suitcase quickly followed, and Harry caught a quick glimpse of six people with ginger hair, all wearing the same identical shocked expression, and Hermione, before he dived in himself and the car shot away, wheels spinning in the summer's dust. Harry caught a glimpse of Uncle Vernon, red faced and furious looking, standing there shaking a fist at the retreating vehicle, before the clouds of dirt enveloped him and he doubled over, choking. Beaming, Harry finally turned to his rescuers.

"Hi," he said. "Having a good summer?"


	3. 3

The entire Weasley family, it seemed – with the exception of Charlie and Bill, who didn't live at home, and Percy, who thought such an enterprise below him – had come to meet Harry, and they were all still staring at him rather doubtfully. Then Ron spoke.

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Fine."

Fred and George were soon speaking too. "Good to see you, Harry!" said George. Fred pounded him on the back enthusiastically, making Harry choke.

"Oh – sorry," he said, not sounding at all apologetic. "Have a cough sweet." He handed Harry a paper bag and Harry, who knew only too well not to take anything (and especially sweets) from the Weasley twins, frowned at them suspiciously. 

"Er – no thanks," he said. 

"Boys!" cried Mrs Weasley, sounding so annoyed that Harry began to wonder if maybe Ron hadn't been right about her being about to disown them. "I told you to _put those things away_!"

The taxi driver kept looking over his shoulder, worried. Harry grinned at him. 

"How are you, Harry?" said Hermione, and Ginny looked at him shyly. Mr Weasley was trying to unobtrusively investigate the interior of the car – which was what many of the poor taxi driver's stares were directed at – and Harry was amazed they didn't crash. He was also wondering how they'd managed to fit eight people and an owl into the back of one cab – but he didn't have time to ponder on it long, because he was once again facing a barrage of questions. 

"Are you eating enough, Harry dear? You look a bit thin."

"How did you manage to escape?"

"How's Ugly Dudley's tongue? Did your uncle cut it off for him?"

"How do you think Siri– Snuffles is?"

"What does this thing here do?" 

The only question that Harry could find the time to answer was the last one, which belonged to Mr Weasley. He was poking at the car alarm, and Harry just managed to say "No – don't," before he poked it too hard and an awful noise like a siren went off. The taxi driver twisted round immediately, in shock, and Harry felt extremely sorry for him. The car pulled over onto the verge, and there was a sudden silence. 

"Right!" shrieked the cabby, jabbing a finger at the air. "That's it! Out, all out!" He sounded remarkably like Uncle Vernon. The occupants of the car looked at each other, doubtfully.

"I think he wants us to get out," said George, sounding puzzled.

"Can't imagine why," added Fred.

"_OUT_!" screamed the taxi driver. The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione all got out. 

"Er, thanks," said Mr Weasley, looking at the money he'd just dug out of his pocket in fascination. "Harry," he hissed. "What do I do with this? What do I give him?"

"How much do we owe you?" asked Harry, who would have paid with his own money if he hadn't known that the Weasleys wouldn't hear of it. He started towards the taxi driver who, to his surprise, began to back away.

"N-nothing!" he stuttered. "Nothing. I don't want anything. Just get away from my car! Please!"

"Er – right," said Harry, taking a step backwards. "Where are we, exactly?" 

"About five miles away from where you want to be," said the driver. "It's that way." He pointed down the road to the left. He disappeared into the back of the car for a minute before emerging clutching all the bags that were there, and clutching his thumb where Hedwig had bitten him. He was eyeing the white owl cautiously. 

"There you go," he said. "Bye now. Have a nice day." And with that, he was back in his seat and driving away before anyone had a chance to say anything. 

"Well," said Mr Weasley when the air had cleared. "Wasn't that _fun_." His eyes were gleaming. 

"Cool," said Ron, with a marked lack of enthusiasm. "What're we gonna do now?"

"Well, you three can go and meet – your – your friend," said Mrs Weasley, managing to not look too disapproving. "And we'll just summon another taxi."

"Um," said Harry, doubtfully. 

"Yes, dear?"

"Well, it's just… I wouldn't use a summoning spell, if I were you," he said. "I'm not sure how the driver would react. I think it's best if you used a telephone – there's one over there…"

No sooner had he pointed out the red box than Mr Weasley was making his way towards it, rubbing his hands together and all but salivating. 

"Yes, yes," he was saying. "Wonderful idea, Harry, _wonderful_… look at the craftsmanship! Look! How beautiful…"

Harry exchanged a look with Fred, and grinned. 

"Do you think he knows which bit he's got to talk into?" asked George. His mother frowned at him, and he smiled back.

"Only joking," he said mildly. "Bye then Harry – see you later Ron, Hermione." 

He and Fred began to walk up the road.

"Where do you think you're going?" demanded their mother. George and Fred stopped, surprised.

"Well, we thought it might be quicker to walk than wait for dad to call a taxi…" said Fred. "He hasn't even opened the door yet." Mr Weasley was stroking the red door frame lovingly. Ron hung his head. 

"Oh, I'll call for you, Mrs Weasley," said Hermione, running over towards him. Ron shook his head at Harry. Mrs Weasley suddenly became all mother-like. 

"Now, Harry," she said, casting an appraising eye up and down him like she wanted to feed him up a bit, "You will be careful, won't you? If it wasn't for the fact that Dumbledore sent me an owl saying that you'd be safe – "

"Dumbledore? Sent you an owl?" said Harry. "I never knew. He never sent me one."

" – Then I wouldn't be so happy at letting you go. Now, you must leave all your things with us – that's it, we'll take Hedwig home with us, won't we, Hedwig?" Harry's owl seemed to have taken a liking to Ginny, and was trying to eat her hair. Ginny looked up at Harry, and blushed. Ron laughed.

"And you'll be all right for food, will you?" Ron's mother continued. "Your – your godfather, I suppose he _does_ eat… um… cooked food, does he?"

"_Mum_!" gasped Ron, blushing as red as Ginny had. "Of course he does! He isn't a dog all the time."

"Hmm. Well," said Mrs Weasley. "I suppose not. But anyway – if you need anything, just owl us, won't you, dear? Oh, what _is_ your father doing to the poor phonebox now?" she added, exasperated. Mr Weasley had taken his coat off, and was using it to wipe some mud from the bottom of the door. Hermione, inside, speaking on the telephone, was looking decidedly worried. 

Finally though they dragged Mr Weasley away from the telephone, and Ron, Hermione and Harry stood ready to go. They waited until the remainder of the Weasley family had packed themselves into the new taxi, and Harry hoped that they'd have better luck with this one. They waved at the car until it was out of sight and then turned, grinning, to each other.

"Oh, Harry!" squealed Hermione, looking the happiest Harry could remember ever having seen her since the time she'd been given a new book at Christmas. "Isn't this exciting!" 

Ron rolled his eyes, but Harry could tell he was looking forward to it just as much as Hermione was, if not more. Ron's house grew rather cramped at holiday times. 

"C'mon, then," said Harry, setting off. "What are we waiting for?" 


	4. 4

It was almost quarter to seven when they reached the sign that said 'Hog's Back' ("So he wasn't joking after all! Bloody hell," said Ron), but there was no sign of Sirius, either in his human or animagus form. 

"You did say six, didn't you, Harry?" asked Hermione anxiously. 

Harry nodded. 

"Well, it's almost seven now, so maybe he thought we weren't coming," said Ron helpfully. Hermione glared at him. 

"Well, let's wait here for a bit, then – " she started, but was interrupted by a playful growl behind her. Spinning round, the three of them found themselves face to face with an enormous black dog, its tongue lolling out the side of its mouth like it was grinning at them. 

"Sirius!" exclaimed Harry, happily. Sirius barked, and jumped at Harry, almost knocking him over. Harry dropped his glasses, and the dog looked extremely apologetic. They followed him off of the road, and up into some trees that looked like they formed the edge of a forest. He led them up a steep hill, and they climbed in silence: by the time Sirius finally halted, they were all out of breath and dripping with sweat. The dog raised itself onto its hind legs – and all of a sudden there stood Sirius Black, looking healthier than they'd ever seen him before, like he had done in the photos Harry had of his parents' wedding. 

"Hello, Harry," he said warmly. "Ron, Hermione – how are you all?"

Then they were all talking at once, nineteen to the dozen; Sirius smiled, and let them. Harry took the opportunity to tell them all about his escape from the Dursleys, and by the time they reached the small, wooden house where Sirius lived they were all in stitches – not only from the steep climb.

"I wish I could have seen his face properly from the back of that cacti," wheezed Ron, holding his side painfully. "Or – was it a caxi, you said?"

"Taxi," said Harry and Hermione at the same time, grinning. They sat down at a long wooden table in the first room they came to – apparently the kitchen.

"Tea?" said Sirius. 

Soon they were all lounging comfortably there, lulled into drowsiness by the warmth of Sirius's fire. Dusk was gathering fast outside: to Harry's shock, he realised that it was almost half past ten. He yawned. 

"Oh," said Sirius at once. "Are you tired? I – I hope you don't mind sharing rooms; it's not very big here, I…"

They hastily assured him that that was fine, and he showed them into a comfy-looking and surprisingly large room, in which three beds had been laid out carefully. 

"There," he said. "I hope that's OK – Hermione, you're sure you don't mind…"

"It's lovely," said Hermione. "Thanks." She beamed at him.

"Well then… goodnight. And I can't tell you how glad I am that you're here… we should have a good summer." He closed the door behind him. 

Half an hour later Harry was in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, more contented than he could remember ever having been before. Without realising it, he drifted slowly off to sleep, a huge smile still plastered all over his face. 


	5. 5

The next week passed quickly and happily. Sirius was unlike any other grown up Harry had ever stayed with: a million miles away from Uncle Vernon, and infinitely more childish than Ron's parents or Mrs Figg, the awful old lady with an obsession with cats that the Dursleys had forced him to spend some of his holidays with. With Sirius, he, Ron and Hermione did the kind of things that Harry had always imagined 'normal' people to do – they went fishing, and swimming, and sat out in the sunlight with bottles of butterbeer and laughed, and for that whole week Harry almost forgot that he was a wizard. He wished wistfully that he could live with Sirius forever. 

And then, at the beginning of the second week, weird things started to happen that dragged Harry back to the reality of the situation. It was dark, and he was sat in the kitchen with Ron and Hermione while Sirius made them some food – refusing all help; he said that he wanted to make up for all the years he hadn't been there for Harry. Harry went quiet after this: the knowledge that after this school year he would have to go and stay with the dreaded Dursleys again was almost unbearable now that he'd tasted the life of freedom that Sirius had to offer. 

"Whatdoyoureckon'sfordinner?" asked Ron, through a mouthful of Honeyduke's chocolate scavenged from Sirius's supply.

Harry shrugged. Hermione was about to answer, when all of a sudden – 

"What was _that_?" demanded Ron, so shocked that he spat out his mouthful of chocolate and stared at Harry and Hermione in terror. Sirius came running from the other room.

"Harry? What happened?" he demanded. Harry was lying on the floor curled up, clutching at his scar. 

"Harry! Stop that!" Sirius pulled Harry's hands away from his head roughly, and peered at him. He looked worried. 

"What was that… that noise?" asked Hermione in a whisper.

The noise had been loud, and unlike any either Harry, Ron or Hermione had ever heard before. It was as if some inhuman being had screamed away the remnants of its soul: a howling that would easily outdo any number of banshees. If Sirius knew what had made it, he obviously wasn't going to tell them.

"I – I don't know," he said. "Here, Harry. Sit down." He dumped a blanket onto Harry's knees, and Harry wrapped himself up in it gratefully, because he was shivering so violently he thought he might be having some kind of fit.

"Does your scar hurt?" asked Ron, peering at Harry's forehead. "'Cos it's gone a funny colour."

Harry instantly put his hand to his head. "Yeah," he said, and then paused. "Why? What's happened to it?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Sirius silenced him with a look and cut across him. "Nothing," he said. "It's fine. Look – why don't you three try and get some sleep? I'll… I'll just – "

A loud knocking at the door interrupted him. Harry tensed, and wondered what was happening. Could Voldemort have found them, he wondered? He had only ever known his scar to hurt when Voldemort was close at hand. He looked at Hermione, and noticed that she was shaking almost as badly as he was. Ron was pale. 

Sirius seemed to be considering opening the door, and Harry felt an urge to scream at him not to. It could be anyone. The knocking came again, and Hermione jumped. 

"Don't – " she whispered – but it was too late. Sirius had reached the door; his hand was on the handle, he'd opened it, and – 

"Moon – Moony?" Sirius gasped, and Harry looked curiously over his shoulder. The only person he knew Sirius could possibly be talking to was Professor Lupin, his old Defence Against Dark Arts teacher, and, sure enough, there at the door stood Remus Lupin – wizard and werewolf. Harry was about to greet him enthusiastically when he stopped himself, as did Ron and Hermione: there was something wrong.

Because the normally slightly scruffy professor was looking even more dishevelled than usual, and as ill as he had done when they had first met him; as Harry peered closer he saw to his shock that Lupin was leaning heavily against the door frame, cradling his left arm in his right. His face was bruised and scratched, and his clothing torn and bloody. Harry wondered what had happened to him. The only thing about his appearance that was in any way improved from the last time Harry had seen him was his robes; they looked new, and ever so slightly too large for him.

"Moony?" repeated Sirius.

"Hello, Sirius," replied Lupin wearily. 

It was at least a full two minutes before Sirius regained his composure enough to remember to ask his friend in, during which time Harry, Ron and Hermione had each been wondering whether they ought to remind him of it, and Lupin had been alternately eyeing the interior of the small room and looking back over his shoulder into the dark anxiously. 

"Er – come in," said Sirius hastily, as he realised he'd been standing staring. Lupin limped forwards.

Harry and the others watched him come. It looked as though he had been in a fight and then dragged through several hedges backwards; a bandage was becoming unravelled underneath his sleeve, and he winced it seemed with every step he took.

"Remus!" cried Sirius, as the smaller man stumbled slightly. "Sit down. Whatever happened?"

"Severus Snape," replied Lupin, sinking down into a chair at the table and smiling at Ron, Hermione and Harry. "How are you all?" he added.

Ron and Harry were still gawking at the combined sight of their old professor and mention of Snape's name, but Hermione said they were all fine, and would he like some tea. 

"Yes, please," said Lupin. Sirius had re-bolted the door, and now sat down at the table opposite his old friend. 

"What did Snape do?" he asked, and Harry shivered at the sound of his voice. He nearly – but not quite – felt a bit sorry for Snape. Any sympathy he might have had, however, disappeared quickly with another glance at his battered ex-professor. 

Lupin shrugged himself into a more comfortable position, and looked tired. Hermione was busy making tea, and Harry and Ron eased themselves quietly into seats to listen to the professor's story.

"I was actually looking for you," he began. "Dumbledore sent me an owl last week telling me to get in contact with you and give you a message, that you were here, with Harry… It took me a while to find you, I must say. I have a letter, Sirius. Anyway, it was the full moon two nights ago," he continued, and Sirius looked up sharply. "And of course now I'm no longer teaching – or doing anything else, for that matter – I no longer have access to the wolfsbane potion. So usually I just lock myself in somewhere, or go somewhere where I know there won't be many people about. I usually manage to avoid being seen, but this time – well, this time there was Snape. I think he'd been looking for me. Anyway, I was at the edge of a forest – I hadn't transformed yet – and suddenly there he was, with two other men I'd never seen before. He told me to follow him and he would brew me up some wolfsbane, and I really didn't have much choice but to follow; the men with him were rather like an adult version of Crabbe and Goyle, Harry. I didn't have much time: I only had a few minutes until the moon rose, and I didn't want to hurt anyone. So Snape took me to an old deserted castle and told me to wait in a room while he went to prepare the potion. Only he locked it behind him, and I realised there wouldn't be enough time for me to drink it, even if he made it straight away."

Lupin stopped for a minute, and toyed idly with a mat on the table.

"It wasn't big," he said after a while. "About – well, about a quarter of the size of this room, I suppose. I ought to be grateful to Snape, perhaps; at least he made sure I didn't hurt anyone."

"He just wanted to see you tear round the room biting yourself, you mean," sneered Sirius, frowning. 

A strange and rather sad look flickered across Lupin's face; he didn't contradict Sirius, and Harry knew that too much had gone on between him and Snape for the Potions master ever to have locked the professor in the room merely from the goodness of his heart. The room must have been tiny: the kitchen they were sat in now wouldn't have comprised of half the size of a normal one, and even Harry, who had spent much of his early life in a cupboard under the Dursleys' stairs couldn't imagine being locked up in something a quarter of the size of it. And for a werewolf – well, Harry knew it was natural instinct for werewolves to attack whatever there was to attack, and if there was nothing else there Lupin would just have bitten himself. Harry guessed that was where much of the blood that stained Lupin's clothes was from.

"Which I did," acknowledged the professor mildly. "It was just like being back in the Shrieking Shack. Well, when I'd worn myself out I imagine I just curled up somewhere and laid still. I remember Snape was there, poking at me with a stick or something… he must have thought I was asleep, and…"

"And?" prompted Sirius, as Lupin trailed off.

"And he was wrong."

There was something decidedly wolfish about Professor Lupin's brief grin as he said this, and Harry found himself almost laughing. But the smile faded quickly, and as Lupin took the tea Hermione offered him gratefully, wrapping his long fingers round the cup, Harry noticed he was shaking.

"I don't think I can have bitten him," he continued. "At least, I know nothing tasted as unpleasant as I'd always imagined Snape would… But I think I tried, and that would have given Snape all the excuse he needed to keep me there – he probably told the men he was with that I was a dangerous beast, in need of …subduing."

Hermione frowned. "What did they do?" she asked.

"Subdued me," replied Lupin lightly. "And afterwards I think I must have been either unconscious or fallen asleep; anyway, the next time I was aware of anything, I was back to human and tied up, and there was Snape standing there looking at me."

He broke off, to take a long sip of tea, sighing and leaning back into his chair as if he felt suddenly better. 

"What did he do?" asked Ron, drinking some of his own tea and grimacing; it obviously contained more than just tealeaves.

"He made the same mistake as he did when I was transformed," replied Professor Lupin. "He thought I was still asleep, and prodded me again with something just to make sure. Only this time I didn't move, and he started to untie me."

He drank some more tea, and Hermione leaned forward over the table impatiently. 

"So how did you escape?" she demanded. "How did Snape let you go?"

"I – er – I knocked him out," said Lupin. 

"You did _what_?" exclaimed Ron, delighted. "Knocked him out? Excellent!"

"It was quite satisfying," admitted Lupin, rubbing his knuckles absently. "I waited until he'd finished cutting the rope, then hit him. Unfortunately I wasn't quite up to flooring him straight away, and we had a bit of a scuffle – but neither of us used wands; didn't have the opportunity to get them out, I suppose. He was angry about something – really angry; I don't think it was anything to do with me. Anyway… to cut a long story short, I knocked him out, found to my delight that he conveniently had a small flask of polyjuice potion on him, tied him up, swapped our robes and was able to escape looking like him. Fortunately that wore off after a while."

"Thank God," muttered Ron, under his breath. 

"So, I splinted myself up as best I could – you know me, Sirius, I was never the best at healing charms – and found my way here. I wonder what Snape did when he woke up. Tried to follow me, I expect. I'd better leave soon – if he comes here, I don't want any of you getting into trouble because of me – "

"Don't be stupid," said Sirius harshly. 

Hermione glanced anxiously at him, and the others exchanged worried looks. Sirius was trying to peel back the arm of Lupin's robe to see what damage had been done to his arm, and Lupin was batting his hand away while he attempted to draw his friend's attention back to the rest of his news. 

"That's not important, Sirius," he said impatiently. "I came here looking for you to give you Dumbledore's letter. Here," he reached a hand inside his robes, delved around for a while, and finally handed Sirius a worn-looking envelope. Sirius tore it open, and scanned through Dumbledore's writing, his face growing darker and darker. 

"Have you – " he began, when suddenly for the second time that night there was a pounding at the door. Five heads jerked up simultaneously, and then looked at each other in concern. 

"Who – " started Ron, in a whisper, but Sirius waved a hand at him to be quiet. The banging continued, and then there was a voice.

"Black! Sirius Black," it shouted.

"Snape," hissed Sirius, and leapt to his feet to wrench the door open. He was not as quick, however, as Lupin, who anticipated this move and somehow contrived to place himself between the door and his friend, clutching a handful of Black's robes as he did so.

"Sirius," he said, warningly. "Snape is on our side. Remember that. He was acting in my best interests when he locked me in that room – he just took it a little further than necessary, and after what happened at Hogwarts that time can you really blame him? We have to forget our differences now. We have a common goal, and fighting between ourselves is _not_ going to help us achieve it." He released his friend abruptly as Sirius swept him aside, and grabbed hold of the door handle. Snape, who had apparently been leaning against lock and listening, stumbled in.

"Black," he gasped, and Harry, Ron and Hermione were delighted to notice that he had a tremendous black eye spreading across the left-hand side of his face. 

"Snape," growled Sirius in return, snatching hold of his collar at the same time. Snape looked up furiously at him, and pushed his hands away.

"Where is Lupin?" he demanded. "Get _off_ me, you – " He emphasised his words with another push at Sirius, who returned it wholeheartedly.

Lupin stood up again from where he'd stumbled into the wall, and had reached the fighting men in a few long strides. Grasping Black's shoulders, he hauled him away from Snape with a strength Harry would have hardly thought him capable of in his present condition, and now stood facing Severus Snape, hands against the man's chest, restraining him from going any further. Snape looked like a dog straining at a leash to reach Sirius, his eyes fairly bulging, and despite the situation Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing at the image. The laughter was contagious, and much to Snape's anger, Ron, Hermione and even Sirius joined in. 

"Shut up, Potter," Snape snarled at him, changing the object of his focus to Harry and forcing Lupin to quickly readjust his hold on him. The laughter stopped, and Sirius started towards the Potions master again. Harry had the distinct feeling that things would have deteriorated rapidly if Lupin hadn't at that moment fallen to the floor, clutching his injured arm, and lost his hold on Snape. Snape, who had been almost leaning against Lupin, fell forwards too, and the pair of them landed in a tangle on the floor. Lupin looked exhausted. 

"Enough," he said, holding up his unhurt arm with a sudden degree of authority that silenced even Snape. "Enough." He got to his feet, pulling Snape up after him, who quickly snatched himself away from his hold. "We have work to do. There is no time for this. Severus, I presume you have come here for the same reason as I have?"

"Yes," said Snape sulkily, massaging his cheek and glowering at Harry and the others. 

"Good," said Lupin. "Then I suggest we get on with it. Sirius, if you could perhaps just re-splint my arm quickly, I shall attend to it more seriously later. Harry, Ron, Hermione; I'm sorry for this… perhaps you could…"

All of a sudden, he stopped talking, and his face screwed up in pain.

"Sorry," he repeated, faintly, before collapsing into Snape, and the potions master – perhaps just out of sheer instinct – caught him before he fell to the floor. Looking rather confused at his own action, Snape promptly let him go, and there was a nasty crack as some part of Lupin made contact with the stone flags. Sirius glared. 

Harry exchanged an uneasy glance with Ron and Hermione. Lupin had been the only thing as far as he could tell that was preventing Sirius and Snape from murdering each other, and with him unconscious…

"Fix him up," said Snape to Sirius, with surprisingly little rancour. "And I'll brew him a restorative potion. We can see to this… business later, when he's back to normal."

Sirius looked as though he was about to disagree, or come up with something to say to Snape, but with one look at Harry and the others standing anxiously round his friend he shrugged and started towards them. Snape busied himself with the fire and small cauldron, and Harry stood aside to let his godfather attend to Lupin.

"Come on," he said quietly to the others, "Let's go for a walk."

"Potter!" called Snape, as they reached the door. Harry turned round slowly, his face expressionless. 

"What?" he asked. 

Snape hesitated – looking like he was about to say something really scathing – then shrugged. "I need some dock," he said. "And also some willow. See if you can find me some – if you remember what it looks like."

Harry nodded curtly, and walked out with Ron and Hermione behind him. He was only too glad to leave the tensions that had been mounting in the room, albeit slightly worried about leaving Sirius there with only Snape and an unconscious Lupin for company. But Lupin had said Snape was on their side, and he knew Dumbledore trusted him… At least now they had a reason to be outside, and they looked for the dock and willow Snape had requested. Dark though it was, and even with the possibility of the howling thing being out there somewhere, the night was preferable to being in a confined space with Severus Snape. 

"I only wish I knew what was going _on_," said Ron, peering at the ground for the dock so intently Hermione had to grab him quickly back to stop him walking into a tree. He shook himself free, looked at her curiously, and went back to stooping before actually managing to walk into another one instead. Hermione rolled her eyes, and snapped some willow twigs from it.

"I think Snuffles and Professor Lupin will tell us," she said. 

"Stop _calling_ him that!" exclaimed Ron. "He's not a dog now – and it's a daft name, anyway."

"It is not!" retorted Hermione, indignantly. "He asked us to call him that."

"It makes him sound like some old granny's lapdog," said Ron, finally locating the dock and uprooting it rather savagely. He poked at the loose soil with his toe, and shook the earth out from where it had gone up his sleeve. 

"That," said Hermione icily, "Is the whole point. If someone overheard us talking about him we don't want them thinking he is who he is, do we? We don't want to get him into trouble."

Ron it seemed couldn't think of a suitable comeback to that, and contented himself with a despairing shake of his head. "What do you think it's all about, Harry?" he asked. "Hey – Harry?"

Suddenly, he and Hermione looked about them in concern. Harry had disappeared. 

"Er – Harry?" called Ron, anxiously. Silence. 

"Harry!" The alarm was evident in their voices, now. This was a typical thing to have happen at such a time and they were, by now, used to it; but nevertheless they were still worried. 

"Er – help?" came Harry's voice faintly, from above their heads. Startled, Ron and Hermione's heads jerked upwards – and when they saw Harry, they were hard put to it not to laugh. 

A rope descended from the highest branches of the tree they were stood next to, and attached to the end of this rope, swinging gracefully from his left ankle, was Harry. His glasses were hanging precariously from one ear, and he looked rather embarrassed. 

"Wow," said Ron, sounding impressed. "How did you get up there?" 

"I don't think that's the issue here," said Hermione, nudging Ron in the ribs. "I think the question is – how is he going to get down?"

"_I_ don't know," said Harry, well aware that his two friends were laughing at him. "But any suggestions are welcome… the sooner the better, please…"

"It must be some kind of trap," said Hermione to Ron. "Any ideas?"

Ron considered. "Welllll…" he said. "I suppose I could climb up that tree and cut him loose… worth a go, anyway…"

Much to Harry's alarm, Ron began to swing himself up into the lower branches and make his way over to where he could reach the rope. Harry wondered how he could see where to go in the dark.

"Be careful," he said nervously. 

Ron beamed at him. "Oh, I will be, thanks," he said.

"Careful for me, not you!" snapped Harry. "I don't want to land on my head, thanks."

"I doubt it would make much difference," said Ron, glibly. Harry flashed a scowl at him worthy of Severus Snape. 

"Can't you think of something else?" From where he was, the ground seemed a very long way away, and the prospect of falling onto it was not at all attractive. 

"Well, if you don't want us to help, fine," said Ron, apparently affronted. Harry thought he was getting more and more like Fred and George by the minute. He really wasn't helping things much. 

Ron sat astride a large branch and squinted at Harry. 

"How _did_ you manage to get there, really?" he said conversationally. 

"I don't know," replied Harry, beginning to lose his patience. "One minute I was walking along listening to you complain and the next minute I was up here. I must trodden in a loop of rope or something – I dunno. Now do you think you could _please_ get me down?"

But Ron seemed to enjoying every minute of it, and Harry made a mental note to thump him when – if – he got down. However, he was saved from further talk with Ron by Hermione's voice drifting up to them, sounding very pleased with itself. 

"There's a rope down here," she said. "Tied round the trunk. I think if I just let it go – oops – "

She had, apparently, done just that, and Harry suddenly dropped a foot. 

"Ugh," he said. "Ow."

"Wait a minute," said Ron, scrambling down the tree like a monkey. "I'll help. Hold it there, Hermione… wait – _wait_!"

Harry had promptly descended another good two or three feet, and Hermione was obviously having problems holding his weight.

"Why didn't you wait?" asked Ron, bemused. 

"Well, you try holding him here like this for hours on end!" Hermione exclaimed crossly. 

"Hours!" repeated Ron, and Harry could see him shaking his upside-down head at Hermione's exaggeration. 

"Please…" Harry said weakly. 

"Oh – right – hold on, then," said Ron. He took the rope from Hermione and began to lower Harry slightly more slowly. 

All of a sudden a loud bang could be heard from the direction of Sirius's house, and Ron looked back over his shoulder nervously, letting go of Harry as he did so. Harry fell the last two or so feet and lay there sprawled in an undignified heap on the ground, glasses crushed beneath him.

"Oh – hello, Harry," said Ron, looking round again. "Better now?"

"Wonderful," muttered Harry moodily, surveying his broken glasses with distaste. He held them out mutely to Hermione, who stared back, apparently despairingly at him. 

"Oh, Harry," she sighed. "You _know_ we can't use magic outside Hogwarts. Honestly. You'll have to get Sirius or Lupin to fix them." Harry jammed what was left of the frames back onto his face with unnecessary vigour, and squinted. 

"Wonder what that noise was," said Ron uneasily. "You don't think Snape's trying to kill Lupin and Sirius, do you?" 

"I expect Sirius just turned him into a pickled onion. He likes them," said Harry. "Come on. We'd better go back."


	6. 6

When they returned to the small hut, they quickly realised that matters had not improved in their absence. Remus Lupin was once again conscious, but only just, and was trying to make himself heard above the shouts of Snape and Sirius.

"Look what you've done to him!" Sirius was yelling furiously at the Potions master. "All because of some stupid school prank. Look at him!" Whilst he spoke, he was flinging his wand about the place angrily, causing great swathes of bandages to wrap themselves around Lupin's arm and left leg. 

"Sirius, I don't think – " tried Lupin, pushing at the bandages and getting somewhat tangled up in them. Sirius ignored him, and continued shouting. Harry, Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway in awe, unnoticed. 

"You're not helping him much yourself, are you Black?" retorted Snape, holding a small bottle of potion in his hand and shaking it violently as though he wished it were Sirius or Lupin.

"Severus, will you – "

Again, Lupin was ignored. The bandages were beginning to mummify him, and Harry and the others had stuff their fists into their mouths to stop themselves from giggling. Apparently impatient, Lupin took his own wand and muttered something at the reams of white cloth, and all of a sudden they flew back to Sirius and Snape and began to wrap themselves around their mouths, creating an effective gag. Both men turned to stare at Lupin in astonishment. Neither could speak to summon a charm of any kind, and Lupin sunk down into his chair looking spent. 

"If you could both stop bickering for a while," he said. "Thank you. Harry, Ron, Hermione – come in, and shut the door. Now. Sirius, Severus – for pity's sake just shake hands and stop shouting at each other – we don't have the time for it… and my head aches enough as it is. Shake!" He shouted the last word, and to Harry's amusement both Sirius and Snape were startled into obeying him. Lupin grinned a crooked grin, and waved his wand at them. 

"Releaso," he said. The bandages fell to the floor, and Sirius and Snape glared at him, looking so alike that Harry wondered briefly whether anyone would be fool enough to point out their similarities. Fortunately though no one was, and Lupin continued. 

"We need to act fast," he said. "Can you give me whatever it is you've brewed up, please, Severus?" 

"I need some dock and willow first," replied Snape reluctantly, and even more reluctantly took the missing ingredients from Hermione's waiting hand to add them to the small bottle. He said something quietly under his breath to it, and steam rose through the cork. Harry and Ron looked at him suspiciously, but Lupin took it when Snape offered it to him and downed it quickly, grimacing as he did so. 

"Eugh," he said, wincing. No one failed to notice the rather smug look that Snape hastily buried at this response. 

"Remus," said Sirius quietly, apparently weighing up his friend's state of health and looking – not surprisingly, thought Harry – slightly doubtful, "Will you be well enough to return to Hogwarts?" 

Hogwarts! This was getting even more curious, thought Harry. What on earth was going on?

Professor Lupin nodded. "If you'll just bandage me up a bit, _Snuffles_," he replied, with a slight grin at Ron. "Though not quite as enthusiastically as last time, please." He stood up. "I suppose we'd better swap robes back, Severus," he added, shrugging painfully out of the thick black cloak he was wearing and handing it to Snape, who willingly flung the injured man's own tattered garments back at him. 

Harry couldn't quite hide his sharp intake of breath at seeing Lupin without his robes on; Snape's clothing had had the effect of making him seem slightly bulkier than he actually was. Lupin was almost stick thin, as thin as Sirius had been the first time they'd met him after he'd escaped from Azkaban, and his shirt was torn and bloodstained beyond recognition.

"You bastard," hissed Sirius, before Lupin or anyone else had the chance to stop him. "Look what you've done to him! You're meant to be on our side… You…"

He was shaking with rage, and Harry suddenly sensed that the whole thing may well blow up in a minute. Lupin was close to passing the point where he would be able to play the role of peacemaker any longer – and he shouldn't have to in the first place, Harry thought with a small burst of anger. He was just about to speak when Hermione stepped in instead.

"Look at you both!" she shouted shrilly. "Two grown men bickering like schoolboys when all you both really want is to get him – " she jerked a thumb at Lupin, " – better. Well why don't you just do it? He's fit to collapse in a moment!"

Everyone turned to stare at her in astonishment, and she turned a little pink.

"Well, it's true," she added defensively. Snape glowered at her like he wanted to strangle her and Sirius was also apparently not particularly pleased at the interruption, but Harry and Ron chimed in as well.

"Professor Lupin's going to fall over soon," predicted Ron. "Look, see? He just did."

"He's broken the teapot," said Harry, looking.

"And the chair," added Hermione. 

"Yes, OK, fine," said Sirius, hurrying to drag his friend upright – accompanied, much to everyone's surprise, by Snape, who took the other arm and then slapped him gently – for Snape, at least – round the face to bring him round.

"Hey – " began Sirius, and then stopped as Lupin woke and Harry kicked his ankles. 

"Quiet," snapped Snape. "The potion should start to work in a moment. Why don't you bandage your pet wolf up?" But his words lacked the biting edge they'd possessed earlier, and Sirius ignored him successfully enough. 

Sure enough, the potion did appear to be taking effect, and Lupin stood when Sirius had finished, thanked him, and drained the rest of his tea. 

"Right," he said. "We should be off."

Harry glanced round at everybody. "Er – how?" he asked, voicing the thoughts of at least Ron and Hermione and possibly the others as well.

"Well – er – " hesitated Lupin, looking at Harry as though he was weighing him up, and Harry prepared himself for some bad news. 

"Yes?" demanded Snape.

"Well we can't apparate; at least, Harry and Ron and Hermione can't, and anyway I think Voldemort is strong enough to sense that kind of magic now… He'd be onto us if we tried anything as strong as an apparating charm. I think the best thing we can do is to… walk." 

For a moment there was a silence. Sirius opened his mouth to speak, but Snape got there before him.

"Fine," he said gruffly. "When do we start?" 


	7. 7

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Sirius packed what little belongings they'd had with them in a matter of minutes. Snape and Lupin had nothing with them to bring; within half an hour they were tracing an all but indistinguishable path through the dark woods in silence. Harry wished someone would hurry up and explain what was happening.

"How far is it to Hogwarts?" enquired Ron, panting slightly after a particularly steep bit. 

Sirius looked at him. "A day – maybe two," he answered flatly. Ron's eyes bulged.

"And we can't – can't apparate?" he asked wistfully. 

"You know we can't. Not with you three, anyway."

"Well why don't you and Professor Lupin and Snape – "

"_Professor _Snape," hissed Snape. 

"Why don't you apparate and then send us… I don't know… a hippogriff each or something? We'll take forever walking like this. Isn't it dangerous?"

"Not as dangerous as what you're foolishly suggesting, Weasley," answered Snape grimly. "If we were to apparate, Voldemort would be here in an instant and we wouldn't be here to protect you. Though of course, I forgot," he added nastily, "You think yourself above protection. You have no need for us – maybe I will…"

"Don't be a fool, Severus," said Lupin sharply from the rear. 

"Will someone tell us what's happening please?" asked Harry, eager to divert a potential argument. Ron and Hermione nodded. Sirius turned to look at them.

"Harry," he said seriously. "We have to get to Hogwarts – now. Dumbledore has asked me not to tell you why – and I am sure he has his reasons. I'm sorry… but just believe us that the situation is deadly serious, and trust us. Is that OK?"

"Fine," muttered Harry, secretly infuriated at being kept in the dark. He could see equally dark looks on Ron and Hermione's faces. Dumbledore had never excluded them from business that concerned them before – so why was now so different?

"But why – " tried Ron.

"It isn't that we don't trust you," Sirius interrupted, ignoring Snape's twisted smile. "Please, Ron. I'm just doing what Dumbledore wants, and if he thinks it's better that you don't know, then… well, I'm not going to tell you. He says in his letter that you will be informed as soon as we reach Hogwarts. I think… I think he might want to tell you himself. And I honestly think he's in a better position to explain than me. So, the sooner we get to Hogwarts, the better…"

Ron took the hint, and started walking again. 


	8. 8

That day, Professor Snape took a strange turn. Instead of his usual snide comments Harry had expected him to furbish them all with, he was at first silent and then, to everyone's shock, remotely friendly. True, he did try and detract over seventy marks from Gryffindor before he realised they weren't actually at Hogwarts, but at least he didn't shout at them unless he was provoked. Harry wondered what could have happened to him. He seriously doubted that it could be remorse: suspiciously, Harry wondered if it wasn't some kind of trap. He said as much to Ron, who nodded wisely. 

"I can't think what else it could be," he agreed, as he watched Snape say something to Lupin without the familiar loathing they'd grown accustomed to the year before last. It was extremely puzzling. There was still a deep resentment there – certainly dislike – but not the bone-deep hatred there had been. Ron shook his head.

"Mental," he said. "He's gone mental. I bet he's just waiting 'til we get to Hogwarts and then he'll turn back into his usual charming self."

They had stopped for a while, in a small clearing in the forest, which, it seemed, stretched on forever. From what he could gather from Sirius, there appeared to be a direct route from it to the woods at Hogwarts… Harry shook his head. He had long since given up trying to work out what was happening. But at least there had been no sign from the howling thing – whatever it had been – and his scar hadn't hurt again since that night. 

He, Ron and Hermione were sitting to the right of Snape and Sirius – Lupin had disappeared, he said to check on their route. It was a relief to sit down: Harry had never ached as much as he did now, not even after his most disastrous games of Quidditch. And there had been a few of those. Hermione had sunk deep into the muddy soil, and lay there muttering to herself. Ron stared at her, perplexed.

"Who are you talking to?" he asked curiously.

Hermione blushed. "No one," she said, looking far more flushed in the face than usual. Harry decided she was ill.

"Oh," said Ron. "I thought you were talking to yourself."

"Well – why would I do that?"

"Because you're the only person that would ever listen…"

It hadn't been funny, but after Ron had spoken a strange, high-pitched snickering noise came from their left, and Harry felt his friend clutch at his forearm painfully. 

"Harry," he said quietly, in an odd, wavery sort of way.

"…Yes?" asked Harry, anxiously.

"Was that my imagination, or… or did I… was it…"

"No, no," Harry assured him, removing his arm from his friend's grip. "That was Snape laughing."

Ron looked like he might faint any minute, and Harry pushed him gently down onto the ground. 

"There, there," he said, unsure of how to comfort his friend. "I'm sure it wasn't anything personal…"

They carried on walking again, Ron still slightly nervous and avoiding eye contact with Snape, who seemed either oblivious to the fact or perfectly happy with it. Ron, as well as Harry and Hermione, was still having difficulties in accepting Snape's new character.

"Maybe it isn't him at all," suggested Ron, after a while. "Maybe its someone drinking Polyjuice. Maybe he's like Barty Couch last year – y'know, when he was pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody, and everything."

"Maybe someone's put a spell on him," said Hermione. 

"Maybe Lupin damaged something permanently when he knocked him out," said Harry hopefully. 

"I don't think so," said Hermione, doubtfully. "He certainly looked like he wanted to kill Sirius back at the house."

"Ah," said Ron darkly. "But that could have just been an act."

"Question is," said Harry, "Who would ever want to pretend to be Snape?"

They pondered the question for a while longer, before they realised that doing so had made them drag behind and the others were waiting for them a good twenty yards or so ahead. They hurried to catch up.

"Professor Lupin," said Hermione, sidling up to him, "What have you done to Snape?" 

Lupin looked at her in surprise. "Nothing," he answered. "What makes you ask?"

"He's – he's being nice to Harry," replied Hermione, backed up with vigorous nodding from Ron. 

"And he's talking to Sirius," he added. "And he laughed. He laughed, at my joke."

"Why shouldn't he?" enquired Lupin, apparently amused. 

Ron shrugged, exasperated. "You know what he's like," he said. "We _all_ do."

Lupin looked at him thoughtfully. "Do we?" he asked pointedly. "We all see the side of Snape he lets us see – but everyone has more than one side to them – I should know."

Hermione and Ron fell silent at this, and Lupin continued. "Snape may well be whatever you want to call him most of the time," he said, "He may be a fool when it comes to holding grudges against the wrong people. And yes, I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever about knocking him out the other night. However," he said, holding up a hand to stop Ron and Hermione from laughing – the image of Snape getting knocked unconscious was still too much for Ron especially to take – "However, he is a brave man, I don't deny it. He has done what few supporters of Voldemort would ever have dared to do. And he is on our side. Dumbledore trusts – even likes him, I think, and I for one am content to lean on his judgement. Watch where you're going, Ron," he added, snaking out a hand and just preventing Ron in time from making the same mistake Harry had made earlier. A loop of rope was lying in the middle of the path, and Ron had just been about to step into it. He spent the next half hour staring fixedly at the ground. 

Apart from breaks to catch their breath, and for lunch, they didn't stop until just before nightfall the next day, when the dusk had settled into something a little darker. It was cold, and Harry wished not for the first time that they were in the main hall at Hogwarts, surrounded by warmth and tucking into one of the school's famous feasts; there would be chicken legs marinated in ginger and celery, swiss rolls with huckleberry jam, chocolate and aubergine flavoured steamed puddings… 

"Harry?" Startled, Harry look round into Hermione's worried looking face. 

"What?" he replied. 

"You fell asleep. Look, Sirius and Ron made a fire over there – Ron had better luck with matches than his dad…"

Harry couldn't help but laugh as he remembered the time Mr Weasley had excitedly gone through seven boxes of matches in an attempt to light a 'Muggle' fire at the Quidditch World Cup last summer. Ron's dad had loved every minute of it, but Harry was glad that he didn't usually have access to that particular means of lighting fire – and also, as he watched Ron blow encouragingly at the flames, that his inaptitude with them wasn't hereditary. He walked towards his friend with Hermione, and huddled up in his robes. 

"Who's going to cook dinner, then?" asked Ron, staring rather pointedly at Hermione. She took offence at this.

"Typical male attitude!" she exclaimed shrilly, startling both Lupin and Sirius, who were sitting beside her. "That is _so_ typical! Hermione is female – Hermione can cook – Hermione can – "

Ron muttered something very quietly under his breath. It wasn't, unfortunately, quiet enough, though: Hermione had heard. She turned pink with anger.

"Ron can cook supper," said Professor Lupin swiftly, before Hermione could deliver her stinging retort, "With me. OK with you, Ron?"

The prospect of cooking supper was apparently infinitely more agreeable to Ron than hearing whatever it was Hermione had been about to say, and he nodded vigorously. 

"Yes," he said quickly. "Yes, yes – fine – I was just about to offer…"

Hermione grinned triumphantly at Harry, and he gazed back, shocked. This had obviously been well planned out. 

So, while Ron and Lupin tried to cook the food they had taken with them from Sirius's house, Harry and Hermione sat by the fire and dozed. Sirius and Snape had disappeared (in opposite directions), and Harry listened vaguely to Lupin telling Ron something about one of the Hufflepuffs turning a Boggart into a joint of ham with eyes last year when he had taken a Defence Against Dark Arts lesson, that materialised into a spider when she had shouted "riddikulus" at it – at which point Ron hurriedly backed away from whatever it was they were cooking – and then he drifted off into a shallow, fitful sleep. 

He was woken what seemed like minutes later by a nervous looking Ron standing above him prodding him with his toe. 

"What d'you want?" Harry mumbled sleepily at him. 

"Um – Lupin wants me to go and give Snape this?" whispered Ron, holding a cup of tea in a shaking hand, his voice rising oddly at the end of his sentence. 

"Well, fine," said Harry, wondering what this had to do with him and why Ron had bothered to wake him up to tell him.

"Want to come with me?" continued his friend, with a forced brightness. "It'll be… it'll be fun…"

Harry stared at him like he'd gone mad. "Fun," he repeated blankly. Ron scowled. 

"Well OK, it won't be, but – are you coming or not?" he snapped. 

"Why do you need me? Snape isn't going to bite your head off, Ron," Harry replied sleepily. Ron didn't look quite so sure. 

"You're just scared of him," he announced as Harry rolled over to go back to sleep. "Fine then. I'll go by myself. But if – if I don't come back…" His voice shook a little. "If I don't come back – well, don't expect me to leave you anything in my will, that's all!"

He stormed off. 

By the time Ron had located Snape, the tea had gone cold and he was beginning to wonder if he was lost. But he found him at last, sat next to another small fire in the shelter of a hill, long nose buried deep in a book. 

"Er – professor?" tried Ron, tentatively. 

"What do you want?" said Snape ungraciously, then seemed to reconsider. "Er – what… what is it?" he asked, slightly less savagely. 

Ron stared at him, curious. The first question, he'd been expecting: the second – or rather the tone of voice of the second – threw him totally.

"I – um – Professor Lupin made some tea," he said finally. He put it down on the ground in front of the Potions master. "Here you go."

Snape appeared to make a conscious effort to seem grateful. "Thank – thank you, er… _Ron_," he managed at last, choking the last word out.

Ron stared for a minute longer, then backed away, slowly. Perhaps Snape was ill.


	9. 9

Meanwhile, Harry had once again been denied sleep – this time by Hermione, who had got bored without her usual entertainment means of the library. 

"Can't you all just leave me alone?" snapped Harry, well and truly annoyed at being disturbed yet again.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, equally impatiently. "The food'll be ready in a minute, and you're not _doing_ much lying down there, are you? We ought to offer to help."

"Thought you were all set against female labour in the kitchen," retorted Harry, resignedly giving up all hope of sleep. He was exhausted. 

"_Well_ – " started Hermione, looking exasperated – but was interrupted by a snap of twigs, and they both looked up. Ron was walking towards, them, looking rather dazed.

"What on earth's the matter with you?" exclaimed Hermione anxiously.

"Snape just – he just – " Ron stuttered, still not having quite lost the look of a rabbit staring the encroaching headlights of a car full on.

"Snape just _what_," growled Harry.

"He just – just _smiled_ at me," said Ron, sinking into the ground. 

"Are you sure he wasn't just baring his teeth to try and bite you or something?" asked Hermione doubtfully. 

Ron considered, but finally shook his head. "No," he said. "That was a definite grin. Even if it was a Snape one. Lupin was right."

Hermione and Harry stared at their friend cynically, then shrugged at each other.

"He has been under a tremendous amount of strain lately," reasoned Hermione. Harry nodded, sagely, and Ron frowned at them both.

"_You_ try being nice to him, then," he snapped. "He was being all right to you earlier, Harry. Why don't you go and pick him some flowers or something Hermione – or do you reserve that for Victor Krum?"

Hermione spared Ron a purely evil glance, and Harry hastened to interrupt.

"Come on," he said. "Let's – er – let's go and eat, shall we?"

The next day dragged on as slowly and painfully as the first: before long, everyone had given up any attempts at conversation, as all their breath was needed for continuing in a straight line without falling over. 

"I – can't – take – much – more – of – this – " panted Ron, looking horribly red in the face. "Think I'll just fall over here, and… and go to sleep." And, much to Harry's alarm, he did just that.

"Sirius!" he yelped, panicking. "Ron just collapsed! He's – what's wrong with him? Sirius! What's wrong with _you_?" 

He looked about him. Everyone seemed to be growing steadily drowsier, their eyes drooping and knees swaying. Hermione fell to her knees with a crunch.

"Hey!" said Harry. "What are you all playing at? What's the matter?" 

He ran over to where Snape was just beginning to fall asleep, his head resting dangerously close to the edge of a small stream that they would have to ford if they wanted to continue in the right direction. Harry nudged it away with his foot. 

"Somebody!" he shouted. He fingered his wand, wondering whether it would be safe to use magic: but he remembered Lupin's words of warning, and thought wildly. There had to be some other way. What was happening?

And then something horrible happened. The stream in front of him seemed to bubble, like hot water: something spun round, and round, and round in it, making Harry feel dizzy and confused. 

"What're you?" he asked in a thick voice, as a figure emerged from it. It was a very odd-looking figure: the lower half of its body was human, but covered in thick, green fur: the upper half was like that of a horse's. And the eyes, which were now staring at Harry – the eyes were that of a goat's. Harry forced his brain to think, and dredged up all the Defence Against Dark Arts lessons he could remember – and then it clicked: this was a Selkie. 

"What've you done to them?" he asked angrily, gesturing at his companions who lay, sprawled, in various uncomfortable-looking positions. To his relief, Ron had begun to stir again, and was now on his knees. 

"They are sleeping," replied the Selkie, in a voice that sounded like several nails being scraped down a blackboard. 

"Well yeah," said Harry, rolling his eyes, surprised at his own daring. "I'd noticed that. What do you – what do you want?"

"A challenge!" said the Selkie hungrily, and Harry was suddenly reminded of Sir Cadogan, one of the paintings at Hogwarts. 

"Oh…?" he said, uncertain quite where this was leading to. "Right…"

Ron was now on his feet, and looking over Harry's shoulder at the Selkie. 

"What kind of challenge?" he asked. 

"A fight," replied the Selkie, and it grinned. This was possibly one of the nastier things Harry had seen before: the Selkie's mouth was full of long, yellow fangs, and its breath smelt of decaying fish. He winced, and took a step back. Around him, his other friends were regaining their consciousness. 

"I want…" repeated the Selkie, apparently enjoying their confusion, "… a fight." He grinned, again. "Underwater," he added. 

Harry looked at the resigned faces of everyone else, and had to admit that there was no other way they could cross the stream without first eliminating this strange creature in front of them.

"If only we had some gillyweed," sighed Sirius. "Well, there's nothing we can do – I'll have to transform, and – "

"No!" shouted Ron suddenly. "Wait! I've got it…" He fumbled in his pockets, as the others watched on in fascination, and then produced a pack of chewing gum triumphantly. 

"Ron – " said Lupin, starting forwards, and looking worried.

"Chewing gum…?" said Hermione, staring at Ron as though suddenly unsure of his sanity. 

"No!" said Ron. "Hubble gum. Remember, Harry – I told you about it in my owl. It makes a bubble round your head – go on! Go!" And, before anyone could stop him, he'd shoved the whole lot into his mouth and was blowing with all his might. 

"Ron – no!" shouted Hermione. She stared around her helplessly. "Do something!" she screamed. A huge, bulbous sphere was growing around Ron's head like a three-dimensional halo. Harry sprung forwards, but the Selkie was quicker.

"Do you accept my challenge?" it asked Ron. Ron, who couldn't make his voice heard through the bubble, nodded. The Selkie grinned maniacally, and began to revolve again – this time, though, taking Ron with it. The water sprayed the others, bursting out at them in huge waves, but Harry ignored it and tried to tug Ron away from the Selkie's grip. Suddenly there was a burning pain searing down his right forearm. The Selkie's teeth were imbedded in it. He heard someone scream, and with a dull shock realised that it had been him. 

"Harry! Get _out_ – that can be lethal!" came Sirius's voice. 

"What about Ron?" Harry could hear himself say. He was becoming detached, separated… he knew he was losing his conscious, fast. He caught another glimpse of his best friend as the whirlpool continued, dragging him down with the Selkie into the depths of the innocent-looking stream. Someone caught hold of him, and made a grab for Ron as well. But all of a sudden – there was nothing. The stream was back to normal, and there they all stood – all except for Ron. Harry blinked.

"Ron!" he shouted, finding his voice again. "Ron! Ron, no!"

"Remus!" cried Sirius. "There's a hut up here – look! Quick – bring Harry."

Harry tried to tear away from Lupin in an attempt to rush after his friend, kicking and striking out with all his force. Ron couldn't be dead… he couldn't…

"Harry we can't. It's not safe. I'll – I'll go and look for him in a minute – we _have to get to that hut now_." Harry couldn't fathom the sudden degree of urgency in his voice before he looked down at his right arm. It was swollen to twice its normal size, where the Selkie had bitten it, and turning white. 

"Ron," he whispered, catching sight of Hermione's ashen face. She looked too stunned even to cry. 

He barely noticed the horrible howling noise that started again: he heard Snape say, as if through a mist to Lupin – "I'll take Potter. Granger – you come with me. Go and look for the Weasley boy." And Harry was dragged off. The last thing he saw was Sirius and Snape standing over him looking desperately worried, and then everything went black.


	10. 10

The Selkie was closing in on Ron, whose head looked strangely distorted inside the bubble. Harry remembered what it reminded him of: last year, when he and Cedric Diggory had competed in the Triwizard Tournament, they had had to rescue four hostages from underwater, and it was just the same now… Ron had turned into Cedric, he was fighting the Selkie… the monster closed its jaws around Ron's neck and turned into Lord Voldemort, then smiled, pointing his wand at Harry… and – 

"Noooo!" yelled Harry, suddenly sitting bolt upright in bed, the sweat pouring from his forehead and soaking his pillows. He looked about him into the darkness, panic only slightly decreasing. 

"It's OK, Harry," said a soothing voice to his left. He corkscrewed round violently towards the sound, and then breathed a deep sigh of relief. 

Remus Lupin was sitting at his bedside with a tight, strained look on his face, holding out a cup of something hot. Harry took it, and sniffed at it suspiciously. To his surprise, it was hot chocolate. 

"How are you feeling?" asked Lupin, still looking at him, concerned. He almost absently handed Harry a bar of chocolate. 

"Mmm," said Harry, with his mouth full. "Nightmare." 

"I can see that," replied Lupin wryly. "Quite a long one, it seems."

Harry frowned at him, puzzled. "What?" he asked. Or, at least, he made some attempt to: the chocolate was delicious, and he only managed a garbled half-grunt.

Lupin though it appeared understood. "You've been sleeping for seven hours, shouting your head off," he explained. "Snape's been boiling you up something to help but you weren't conscious to drink it and we didn't really think pinching your nose and pouring it down your throat was going to help much – Snape's suggestion, if you hadn't guessed."

Harry had.

"You had a fever of some kind," continued Lupin. "Sirius and I have been sat here – he'll be back soon; went to get some breakfast. He hasn't eaten since you started shouting."

Harry's mind was racing. Seven hours… all sorts of things could have happened since he fell asleep! Then he remembered: Ron. 

"Have you – have you found Ron yet?" he asked groggily, trying to fling the bedcovers from him and get out of bed. Maybe the hot chocolate wasn't just hot chocolate after all. He put it down. 

"Ron came back about an hour ago," said Lupin, smiling and pushing the cup back into Harry's hands. "Drink it. It'll help."

"What is it?" Harry could have cried in relief at the news of Ron's return. "And what happened with Ron? Where is he? Can I see him?" 

Ignoring the last few questions, Lupin said, "I have no idea, but Professor Snape assured me it will make you feel better."

Harry let go of the cup at once and spat out his mouthful – unfortunately all over Lupin's robes. The professor stood up and shook the liquid off.

"Thank you, Harry," he said wryly. "I was joking. It's only hot chocolate."

"Oh," said Harry, feeling rather silly and eyeing the spilt drink sheepishly. "Sorry."

Lupin shook his head, and sat down again. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm sure I'd have had a very similar response. Are you feeling better now? I think Hermione would like to see you – and Sirius – "

At that moment, Harry's godfather and Hermione walked into the small, dark room and peered anxiously at him. Lupin got up again and disappeared; Sirius quickly occupied his vacated seat, and Hermione perched on the end of the bed. 

"How are you?" they both asked at once. Harry laughed. 

"Fine – I'm fine," he said. "Just a bad dream. Where's Ron? Is he OK?"

The sound of cautious footsteps and a muffled curse as something was tripped over heralded Ron's arrival, and Harry was able to let out a sigh of relief. For the first time since he could remember, he felt vaguely safe. Here he was, in bed, with no one lost or dying. What a change that makes, he thought to himself.

"'Lo, Ron," he murmured sleepily. "You're a funny colour." And with that, he fell fast asleep. 

Harry was awoken the next morning by the pale morning sunlight stealing its way across his face. Blinking, he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Ron was lying on a mattress on the floor by his bed, and Harry rubbed his eyes even harder as he stared at him. He had been right, the night before: Ron _was_ a funny colour – he had gone blue.

"Ron?" hissed Harry incredulously, unsure as to whether he ought to wake his friend and inform him of this change in complexion, or whether he already knew about it. 

"He'll be all right in an hour or so," came Sirius's voice from where he stood leaning against the door frame, his thin body silhouetted there. "That was just the, er, after-effects of Snape's potion. Come and have some breakfast?"

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from Ron's blue face. 

"_Snape_ did this to him?" he said, finally looking at Sirius. "Funny sense of humour he's got, hasn't he?" 

"If you call saving his life funny, then yes, I suppose so," said Harry's godfather, a slight note of warning in his voice. "Ron got badly bitten by a Selkie, Harry. As you know, that could have been life-threatening… I'm sure Ron will tell you he'd rather be blue than dead when he wakes up."

Harry wasn't so sure. The blue went horribly with Ron's ginger hair, and whilst he hurriedly reviewed his opinion of Snape's intentions, he couldn't help being slightly apprehensive about Ron's reaction.

"Does he – does he know?" he asked Sirius, who – rather unhelpfully, Harry thought – smirked. 

"Not yet," he replied, winking. "There aren't any mirrors round here… none of us have told him yet, and Snape assures us it'll wear off sooner… or later."

"Oh God – it isn't permanent, is it?" exclaimed Harry, horrified at the possibility. He could just imagine the taunts Ron would have to put up with from Malfoy – and everyone else, for that matter. 

"Oh, no," said Sirius – just a touch too quickly, Harry decided. He glared suspiciously at his godfather, but Sirius put a finger to his lips and nodded towards Ron. Obviously Harry's shout had woken him up.

"Morning… What's not permanent?" he mumbled, trying in vain to flatten his hair, which was sticking up in great ginger tufts. Harry was just grateful that it was dark enough inside for Ron not to see his hands.

"Er – nothing," he replied awkwardly. "How are you? OK? What happened?"

A shudder flickered over Ron's face, and the blue paled to a nice, pastel shade. 

"I don't want to talk about it," he said darkly. He would have gone on to say more, if at that moment Hermione hadn't rushed in, almost crying, and bravely hugged him, ignoring the blue. Ron looked startled and not a little worried: he looked to Harry and Sirius for assistance. He didn't receive any, however. They were both too amused to do anything. Ron glared at them evilly. 

"Oh, Ron!" sobbed Hermione. "You're awake. I didn't think – I thought you – "

It was very unlike Hermione to be at a loss for words, and Ron blushed a colour reminiscent of a midnight sky. 

"I'm fine," he said, a little gruffly. "Thanks."

Hermione pulled herself together, and let go of Ron, choosing tactfully to ignore the look of sheer relief that spread over his face. 

"Well," she said. "That's OK then. Snape and Professor Lupin are cooking breakfast."

"Great!" said Ron, leaping to his feet with an enthusiasm that made Harry dizzy. "I'm _starving_. Come on – let's go!" And he sped from the room like a hare. Harry got the impression that he was trying to escape Hermione. Shrugging at each other, he and Sirius followed. 

Breakfast did not prove to be all that exciting, although Ron began to wolf his down readily enough. The bacon was like leather, and the toast was blacker than Snape's hair. No one was brave enough to comment on this fact, however, because Snape seemed to be daring everyone to do so, his eyes flashing dangerously. Harry guessed it was he who had done the cooking. 

"That was… wonderful, Severus," said Lupin, bravely chewing the bacon and hiding a grimace. "I'll er – I'll make some coffee, shall I?"

"If you like." Snape appeared to be sulking. 

"Um," said Ron suddenly, and everyone looked at him, curious. He was staring at his hands, and Harry felt his stomach lurch before he saw they were both, luckily, gloved. 

"Why… why am I wearing gloves?"

"You hurt your hands when you were fighting the Selkie, Ron," said Lupin smoothly, as everyone else gulped nervously. "But you did the trick – fought it off, of course. We, er – we had to put the gloves on for you to keep them protected – Professor Snape made you a salve for them – we don't want it coming off…"

Ron tried hard not to look too pleased at the image of him fighting off a Selkie single-handedly, and failed. Snape sniggered, and was ignored. 

"I hope they don't hurt?" continued Lupin courteously. 

"Oh – er – no, not _too_ much," said Ron. "I'll live."

Harry exchanged a quick grin with Hermione, but Sirius and Lupin were, commendably, keeping extraordinarily straight faces. Nobody paid any attention to Snape's twisted grin. 

"Inspired," Sirius complimented Lupin quietly, as Ron bent back over his plate to tackle his toast. Lupin shrugged modestly. 

"I try," he replied in a whisper, aiming a quick smile at Harry and Hermione. 

All of a sudden there was a loud clatter as Ron – who, with his gloves, seemed to be having difficulties holding his knife and fork – knocked his plate onto the floor, along with the remains of his indigestible breakfast.

"Oh," he said, not trying very hard to hide the relief in his voice, "Oh, dear. Look, I've spilt my breakfast."

"So you have," hissed Snape, as Sirius and Lupin picked up the broken china. "I wonder why?" He glared. 

"I expect it was the gloves, wasn't it, Ron?" supplied Hermione. 

"Well, yes," said Ron – and then added truthfully, albeit somewhat tactlessly, "But I don't mind. I've never seen toast that colour before."

"Just be grateful you got any," snarled Snape viciously. "It's a better colour than _you_, Weasley."

Harry lashed his foot out under the table, and from the howl of pain Snape let out he guessed he wasn't the only one. 

"What's he talking about?" asked Ron, looking confused. 

"You're looking – er – a mite peaky there," improvised Lupin quickly. Harry and the others, except Snape, flashed him three congratulatory smiles. Lupin winked.

"Oh," said Ron, obviously guessing there was more to it than that. "Oh, right. Um… did someone say something about coffee?"


	11. 11

Half an hour later, when tempers had cooled sufficiently enough for Snape, Sirius and Lupin to disappear off into a corner to discuss what would happen next, Harry sat down on the table and thought hard. He wasn't entirely sure what he was trying to think about, but he knew there was something in there somewhere, eluding him, and it was something to do with Ron. 

Since fighting the Selkie, Ron had been acting remarkably strangely – for Ron. He had told no one about what had happened under the little stream with the monster; and, while Harry was tempted to put this unusual display of modesty down to Snape's potion, there was something else nagging away at his mind like a dog with a bone. Suddenly it clicked. 

Ron was sitting down at the table. His elbows were splayed apart and his head was resting slumped in his hands, and he didn't appear to have realised that he was blue yet: he was gazing off into the distance, ignoring Harry and the others. Quietly, Harry slid down from his perch and crept over to Sirius. 

"Did – did you give me the same potion as you gave Ron?" he asked, in a whisper. "When the Selkie bit _me_?" He noticed Sirius exchange a quick look with Lupin, who raised his eyebrows, before replying.

"Yes – we were just discussing that…"

"Then why haven't _I_ turned blue?"

"It's his complexion," spat out Snape. He appeared to think that his potion-making ability was being called into question. "His ginger hair. And he had a far more concentrated dose than Potter. I told you: this is just the after-effect – it will wear off soon."

"Have you ever known it to have this effect before?"

"I've never _given _it to anyone before! How should I know? Why? Are you implying that my – "

Lupin shushed him with an impatient hand. "I'm not implying anything, Severus," he said. "I'm just trying to work out what's wrong."

They were, conveniently, stopped from further conversation by a small shriek from Hermione. 

"Whatever's the matter?" exclaimed Sirius, turning round. 

Hermione was pointing a shaking finger at Ron. Because he was clutching at his face with his hands, devoid now of gloves, his eyes widening in panic. 

And from his mouth were growing long, yellow, fangs. 

"Another after-effect of your potion, Severus?" enquired Lupin, with a calm that made Harry blink. Here they were, in the middle of a deserted hut in the middle of an enchanted forest, with his best friend blue and developing serious dental problems. Now was possibly not, he thought wildly, the best time to be calm. 

"Isn't anyone going to do anything?" he shouted. "Somebody! Help Ron!" 

"Well – I would, Harry," said Lupin in the same calm voice, "Only that isn't Ron. I hadn't realised until a minute ago, but – well – I'm afraid we have a problem."

"I _know_ we do!" squawked Harry, trying to pull Ron's hands away from his mouth and giving up as his blue head turned green and horse-shaped.

"…Selkie…" Hermione whimpered, backing into Sirius. 

"Well actually no," replied Lupin, as though he were taking a class of Defence Against Dark Arts at Hogwarts, talking Hermione through identifying a certain creature. "Not a Selkie. You see – this is, in actual fact, a Brollachan – a rare form of the Boggart. As you know, the Boggart takes on the form of whatever its victim is most scared of: the Brollachan adopts the shape and traits of its last… er… victim."

"… Victim…" echoed Hermione. 

Harry suddenly felt very faint round his knees. 

"You mean – you mean that isn't Ron?" he asked in disbelief. "You mean – Ron's _dead_?"

Lupin shook his head. "No," he said. "The Selkie was the last thing the Brollachan killed, and so he took the form and characteristics of that. He must have damaged Ron, I suppose, which is why he looked like him for a while – but he's turning back into the Selkie, Harry, which must mean Ron is still alive. I wondered why he was blue. I – er – I think maybe we ought to sort this out now," he added, as the Brollachan made a dash for Snape. It stopped just short of the professor, however, and stared at him instead. Harry didn't envy Snape: the goat-like eyes were spinning horribly. There was a stifled pause, as no one dared even breathe, and the Potions master struggled to keep eye contact with it for a while.

Then, in a sudden movement that shocked them all, Snape had leapt behind Lupin with a surprising degree of athleticism, grabbing the startled man's arms and swinging him round in front of him like a shield. He gave him a push towards the Brollachan.

"You're the Defence Against Dark Arts expert," he hissed. "Nice – nice Brollachan." This was directed to the monster, who was still hungrily eyeing the Potions master.

"Er – fine," said Lupin. He was trying to extract himself away from Snape's painful-looking grip, without much success. "Do you think you could let go of me now, please, Severus?"

Suddenly realising who it was he was holding on to so tightly, Snape snatched his hands away as though they burnt him, and jumped back. If the situation hadn't been so terrible, Harry would have been tempted to laugh. But, as Lupin turned to face the Brollachan, wand in his hand, Harry did no such thing. Nothing on earth could at that moment have induced him even to smile: he was trying hard to come to terms with the other problem they now faced. 

Because if that was a Brollachan in front of him trying to bite Lupin, where was Ron? 


	12. 12

__

This one's for MoonStar, and Sirius's Crazy Chick: thanks for the feedback, you're right, it does help - I'm totally new to FanFiction.com and personally I'm amazed I managed to figure out how to make this thing go into chapters. Computers are not my forte. But everyone else, please review! Thank you all ~M~

Lupin rolled up his sleeves, and looked at the others grimly. "You'd better go and find Ron," he suggested, "While I deal with this. I don't know where he'll be… but at least, I think, we can rest assured he isn't dead. But he might be hurt – Severus, could you brew something up for him? I haven't a clue what the symptoms of fighting with a Brollachan would be like… you'd know better than me…"

Snape muttered something under his breath that Harry thought sounded distinctly like 'flattery won't get you anywhere' but nodded curtly and left the room before anyone could say anything else to him. Harry looked at Hermione, and then at Sirius. 

"I'm going to look for Ron," said Harry. He didn't know if Sirius would try and stop him, but he didn't care if he did: and, from the look of things, Hermione didn't either. As it was, she'd reached the door before either Harry or Sirius had moved. 

Sirius suddenly sprung to life. "Yes," he said, following Hermione. Then he paused. "Moony – you'll be careful? Are you OK doing this by yourself?" 

Harry didn't hear Lupin's response as he joined Hermione outside. All that was important now was finding Ron. 

He, Hermione and Sirius traced their way back down to the small stream where Ron had accepted the Selkie's challenge, and looked around for any signs of him. But they found nothing; Harry didn't know whether to be disappointed by this, or relieved that they hadn't found a corpse. 

"What's this?" asked Hermione suddenly, stooping to the ground and picking something up. They were now a good one or two miles away from the stream: they'd been searching for at least three hours, and panic was deepening. Harry looked at the object in Hermione's hand, and gasped. 

"It's the Hubble gum wrapper!" he exclaimed. "Ron – he must have dropped it here!" And he looked around everywhere – left, right, up, and down for anything else that might indicate Ron's whereabouts.

"The wind might have just blown it here," said Sirius doubtfully. But Harry shook his head.

"There _is_ no wind," he said. "Ron must be here, somewhere…" He thumped his hand against a tree in annoyance. 

A second later, Harry was lying flat on his back in a pit that hadn't been there a moment ago. Startled, he peered up at Sirius and Hermione's astonished faces: He didn't know quite how he'd done it, but he appeared to have activated some form of trap. He was getting remarkably good at that, he thought ruefully. 

Sitting up stiffly, he began to call up to Sirius to help him out. But the words died in his throat. 

Lying next to him, his face smudged with dirt and his eyes closed, was Ron.

Sirius and Hermione managed, with much difficulty and quite a lot of accidental acrobatics, to pull both Ron and Harry to the surface again. Ron hadn't spoken since Harry had found him: in fact, he'd barely even moved, and Harry was terrified that he might be dead. But Sirius assured him that he was breathing, and he shouldered Ron's weight as though he were nothing more than a sack of potatoes and set off back to the hut in silence, Harry and Hermione scampering alongside Sirius quickly in an effort to keep up. 

It took them less than an hour to reach the wooden shack, and when they did so they halted at the small door. Snape was stood outside it, listening through the keyhole to the sounds from within – a series of crashes and small explosions – and he twisted round so violently when Harry and the others approached that he lost his balance and fell into the door. It swung open just as something appeared to blow up inside: great billows of smoke flew out towards them and Harry, Hermione and Sirius flew inside to see what was happening – treading on various bits of Snape that were draped over the threshold as they did so – and came face to face with Professor Lupin, sitting quietly in a chair. 

Sirius put Ron down on the table. 

"Well?" he demanded. "What happened?" 

Lupin sighed. "It's gone," he said. "Though I'm not sure if I killed it… It disappeared just as you came in."

Snape had picked himself up and stood there, brushing himself down ineffectively with his hands and glaring at everyone. 

"I'm afraid I put an end to our not using strong magic, though," went on Lupin. "If Voldemort can sense it then he'll be on to us in no time. How's Ron?"

Everyone's attention was switched to Ron as though somebody had flicked on a light. He had not changed since the last time they'd checked. 

"I'm not sure," said Sirius, frowning. "He's been like that since we found him – I'm not sure if he's just unconscious, or if he's been hexed."

Lupin also frowned. "We'll have to see what we can do – and do it as quickly as possible," he said. "Let's get Ron to bed, and then work out what needs to be done."

"Ha!" exclaimed Snape. "And how do we know that you _are_ Lupin? How do we know that you aren't the Brollachan – that you haven't killed him – and taken on his form?"

Harry paused, as did everyone else. Snape had a point. Lupin – or what looked like Lupin – smiled wryly.

"Well, there you have me, Severus. I honestly don't know. You'll have to just believe me – or not, I suppose… Would you imagine that a Brollachan takes on the form of its victims to the extent of becoming a werewolf?"

He had seemed to be musing, but Snape's eyes lit up. "I wouldn't have thought so," he said softly. "But you know… there are ways to find out whether or not you're a werewolf…"

Sirius stepped forwards, placing himself in between Snape and his friend. 

"No," he said firmly. "Remus has put up with enough from you… The way you've treated him… I thought you'd have grown out of your petty little games by now, Snape. First you beat him nearly unconscious as a wolf; you haven't had the decency to speak to him civilly the whole time we've been travelling – even though he's stopped me from punching your greasy face a good few times – and now this. Of course it's Remus. Isn't it, Moony?"

"Well yes, as it happens," replied Lupin. "But I don't expect anyone to bel– "

"Don't you _dare_ threaten me," Snape interrupted, snarling at Sirius. "I'm acting on all our behalves here – does it even matter to you that by accepting his word that he isn't the Brollachan you're placing all our lives at risk? Or wouldn't you care? Just be exchanging one monster for another, I suppose."

Lupin winced. Sirius looked livid. 

"How dare you!" he shouted at Snape. Harry tapped his fingers nervously against the table and looked at Ron: he hadn't moved since they'd brought him in, and Harry was desperately worried about him. How could he alert anyone's attention to him, though? Snape and Sirius looked just about ready to kill each other again: the tension which had, somehow, remarkably been contained the last two days was beginning to erupt again and Harry personally didn't think they could have chosen a worse time for it. 

Sirius was still shouting at Snape. "How dare you – _you_ – call _him_ a monster?" he demanded. "Ever heard the expression 'the pot calling the kettle black'?"

Snape growled a feral growl, and lunged towards Sirius, who seemed to welcome him gladly. 

"It was like this at school," sighed Lupin to the others as they rolled about on the floor, each taking every possible opportunity that presented itself to get in a good kick or punch, in what Harry decided was quite possibly the dirtiest fight he had ever witnessed. "I suggest that we leave them to their own devices for a while and see to Ron. I'm sure they'll wear each other out eventually – although maybe you don't believe it's me?" He took Harry and Hermione's doubtful faces, and grinned. "Quite understandable," he said, as Harry shrugged apologetically. "It seems we shall need Snape's evidence after all…"

And with that, he had waded into the fight and separated the two men, gripping each by their collar like a pair of dogs. As Snape snarled at him, Harry decided that analogy wasn't too far off. He wondered vaguely what kind of animal Snape might be if he ever took it into his head to become an Animagus. Probably a snake, he thought. 

"If you could both kindly stop that for a moment," Lupin was saying, as Sirius and Snape hung from their collars, still trying to swing at each other, "Then we might be able to help Ron before something intractable happens to him. What were you going to suggest, Severus?"

The nasty-looking glint returned to Snape's eye. It was the kind of look Harry recognised from many of his Potions lessons: the kind of look he got just prior to giving out detentions. 

"Just a brief experiment," he said smoothly. "I'm sure you know what I'm talking about."

Sirius attempted another punch in his direction, but unfortunately ended up hitting Lupin instead. Snape said nothing, and fiddled with the silver buttons on his robes darkly. Lupin nodded, and let go of the two men. 

"Fine," he said. "Harry – why don't you and Hermione take Ron into the next room, and put him in the bed there? We'll be through in a moment."

Curious, but doing as Lupin suggested, Harry put an arm underneath Ron's shoulder, and Hermione did the same on the other side. Together, they hauled him upright off the table and into a standing position. His knees gave way; his head lolling onto Hermione's shoulder, Ron's limp body was carried off slowly into the next room. Harry and Hermione deposited him gently on the bed, and then sat down next to each other. 

"What do you think all that was about?" asked Hermione. 

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "But Sirius didn't look too happy, did he? I wonder how long they'll be…"

As it happened, they were not long at all. Harry had barely finished talking when they re-emerged from the kitchen, Snape in front, still playing with his silver buttons. Both Sirius and Lupin, Harry noticed, looked extremely pale. 

"I hope your _experiment_ convinced you?" Sirius was saying, bitterly. 

To Harry's surprise, Snape merely nodded, and made no attempt to make one of his usual comments. 

"Now," he said briskly. "Let's see to Weasley."

Harry and Hermione were ushered out by Snape, who sent them to look for ingredients for his potion. Sirius accompanied them. 

"Will Ron be all right?" asked Harry, pulling a face as he picked up a handful of slugs from underneath the shadow of a gorse bush. Sirius shrugged.

"He should be," he said shortly. Harry got the impression that Sirius was still brooding over whatever it was that Snape had done to Lupin, and they finished searching for the rest of the ingredients in silence, returning to the little hut after two hours and giving Snape the slugs, three shed snake skins, eleven and a half minnows (Sirius had spent the better part of the time outside lying on his stomach wiggling his hand about in the stream) and two frogs that Hermione had been too squeamish to disembowel herself. Snape took them all wordlessly. 

Ron, it seemed, was making a good recovery. Although still unconscious when Harry and the others had returned, he looked much healthier now, and more peaceful. Snape told them that he should wake up soon: after drinking the potion, he said, tossing the frog's liver into a simmering cauldron and wiping his hands on his robes, it would be a matter of hours before he was back on his feet. Harry and Hermione shared a heartfelt look of relief. 

Harry still wasn't quite sure what to make of Snape's rather violent mood swings. As he had grown accustomed to nothing but difficulty with the Potions master over the last four years, he discovered, like Ron, that this sudden change of heart was intensely disturbing. One minute he would be the same old Snape they knew and – well, Harry wouldn't say _loved_, as such – but then the next he would be visibly trying to act pleasantly. 

Harry decided that this 'nice' side of Snape only really emerged when he was talking to him, Ron or Hermione. The tension between Sirius was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and Snape also, it seemed, had not got around to forgiving Lupin for whatever it was he thought he'd done. Harry sighed. He didn't know what had happened back in the shack between the three men that had caused Sirius to get so angry with the professor, but he knew that it must have been something beyond the normal bickering. Oh well. Harry turned to look at Ron: his friend was still pale, but at least he was no longer blue; and, perhaps more importantly, he was most definitely still alive. Perhaps things were improving after all.

Ron woke up an hour later, just in time for the tea that Sirius had made. Harry, who had been sitting at the foot of his bed watching him, stared at him in concern as he raised a hand to his head and ran it through his hair experimentally.

"Yesss…" he hissed.

"Ron," began Harry, hoping with all his might that this wasn't another Brollachan he had to deal with.

At his voice, Ron suddenly stared at him, unblinkingly. "Harry!" he said. Then: "The Selkie! The – what happened? It wasn't a Selkie, Harry, it was a horrible thing, a – a – "

"A Brollachan," supplied Harry helpfully. 

"A what? What happened to it?"

"Lupin killed it, I think. How are you?"

Ron sank back into his pillows and groaned. "Terrible," he said. "Horrible. I don't think eating all that Hubble gum was good for me…"

"You get indigestion if you eat too much gum," said Hermione, who had suddenly materialised out of nowhere and was standing there next to Ron, peering at him with concern plastered all over her face. "It gets stuck in your stomach. You aren't meant to eat it."

Ron nodded, glumly. "I realise that now," he said. "But what happened? What did you do after I – after I went in the stream?"

Harry considered, unsure of how much to tell him. "The Brollachan made itself look like you," he said. "We thought it was you, come back… only you were blue, and then you grew teeth, and then we realised it wasn't you after all and Lupin killed the Brollachan and we went and found you and brought you back here, and… well, here you are."

Ron looked confused. "OK…" he said.

"I'll get Snape," said Hermione, and hurried off. Ron's eyes widened.

"Why's she doing that?" he asked, panicking. "What have I done? Why…?"

"Because you need to drink this." Snape's oily voice drifted down to them. "Out of the way, Potter… this has some peculiar side-effects…"

Ron backed up against the headboard, gripping at his bed coverings with white-knuckled hands. He looked petrified. Harry, grinning with sheer relief that his best friend was back to normal, walked slowly out of the room with Hermione to the sound of Ron's protestations and what were possibly soothing noises coming from Snape. Harry's smile widened. He was glad he wasn't in Ron's shoes.


	13. 13

"We should reach Hogwarts before lunch tomorrow," said Sirius, over dinner that night. "We'll leave as soon as Ron's feeling better."

"I'm feeling fine now," said Ron immediately – then spoilt this declaration by rushing out of the room to be sick. 

"Are you sure you were meant to put the minnows in, Professor?" asked Hermione suspiciously. Snape glared at her. 

"Are you suggesting I don't possess enough knowledge of my own subject to know the ingredients for a simple reparative potion, Miss Granger?" he snarled. "You ought to be grateful. If I hadn't been here, your friend would still be in excruciating pain."

Hermione looked doubtful that Ron wasn't at the moment, but wisely decided against saying so. Harry dived into his plate of potatoes with a vigour that he didn't really possess: spending the last two days with no escape from Snape had exhausted him. He pitied any future Mrs Snape. How Dumbledore and the other members of staff could bear to spend each and every day in the man's company bewildered him: the teachers at Hogwarts had risen considerably in his estimation since he'd learned just how hard it was to put up continuously with the Potions master. 

He – and all the others, with the possible exception of Sirius – had given up rising to the baits that Snape provided. But even this didn't seem to help much: Harry's Lupin-style politeness served to make Snape's eyes flash just as much as Sirius's short retorts to his jibes. 

It was decided that they would leave in the morning. Hogwarts was, apparently, only four or five hours away: Harry didn't understand how they'd managed to walk from Surrey to his school in under three days, but didn't bother asking. All that mattered now was getting there in one piece – and then hearing whatever mysterious things it was that Dumbledore had to tell then. That night, he lay awake, wondering at all the secrecy. Why had Dumbledore told Sirius not to tell them? Did he not trust one of them? Could it be _that_ serious? Harry pondered these thoughts long into the night, and when he finally drifted off into a fitful, troubled sleep, the sky had begun to lighten and the first tentative notes of birdsong had erupted into the sky.

Ron's quick recovery astonished Harry. He hadn't asked what had happened with the Brollachan and Ron didn't volunteer any information, so Harry was just left with his imagination as to what had happened in the water: he still had the disturbing image of Cedric Diggory imprinted firmly in his mind, and on the whole he decided that the topic was probably better of being left alone. So that day they talked instead of how nice it would be to see Hogwarts again, and eat proper food instead of the rather bland supplies from Sirius's house – which had begun, at any rate, to now run out. 

"And the library!" said Hermione, enthusiastically. "I can't _wait_ to re-read the book list for next year – of course, you're going to have to go to Diagon Alley, aren't you, Harry, before term starts? I wonder if Dumbledore will take us. It's too dangerous for Sirius… Have you gone, yet, Ron?"

"Yeah," mumbled Ron, obviously hoping that Hermione didn't delve too deeply into what exactly he'd bought: Ron's family was very poor, and he frequently found himself being given second-hand thises and thats that caused him a great deal of embarrassment. But Hermione was too sensitive to probe him; tactfully, she changed the subject.

"How far do you think we are now?" she enquired. "It's almost lunch time. We should be – Oh…" Harry and Ron looked at her, surprised, as she gasped. Then, following her gaze, they saw what she was looking at and gasped themselves: for there, in front of them, rising out of the midday mists was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 


	14. 14

Ten minutes later saw the six of them stood at the great door, and two minutes after that they were all making their way up to Dumbledore's study, each with a mouthful of out-of-season Christmas cake that had suddenly appeared floating on plates in front of them. Harry ate his with relish. He hadn't realised just how hungry he was. 

Sirius strode forwards and knocked on Dumbledore's door. 

"Headmaster?" he called. The door swung open, and there was Dumbledore, sitting at his desk behind a large pile of books scattered with crumbs and a slice of Christmas cake in his hand.

"Come in, come in," he called jovially. "And do sit down." He waved his wand at the space in front of him, and all of a sudden six identical rocking chairs were placed neatly in two rows. Harry, Ron and Hermione sunk gladly into the back three. 

"Ah, Harry," said Dumbledore, peering at him over the top of his half-moon glasses. "How nice to see you. How nice to see all of you – I hope your trip was… uneventful?" From the twinkle in his eye, Harry guessed that Dumbledore had at least some knowledge of their disastrous journey: but the Headmaster's grin had disappeared before it customarily did, and he leaned forwards on his desk, fingers lacing together, looking at them seriously. 

"I know some of you, at least," he said, glancing at Harry, Ron and Hermione, "Will be wondering why I've called you here and cut short your holiday. I regret to say that it couldn't be helped. Now – " he brushed some crumbs from his beard impatiently – "The reason is simple. Voldemort has returned – quicker than any of us had anticipated – quicker than we would have thought possible – and before we have had the time to assemble the Order of the Phoenix. I cannot do this without the aid of Severus, Sirius and Remus – ah, I see you've had the time to build up a somewhat better relationship over the last few days – " the twinkle was back in his eye – "and, of course, as it is Harry that Voldemort is after, he cannot be left alone." Dumbledore offered Harry a small, but genuine smile.

"I believe some explanations are in order," he went on. "Sirius, you read my note: I ought to tell Harry, Ron and Hermione what exactly happened, however… I shall try to be brief.

"I approved of you all staying with Sirius for the holidays," he said. "As I believed no harm would come from it. And I'm sure it came as a relief to you, Harry, to be able to have an enjoyable summer holiday for once. But then news reached me of Voldemort's rising: news that would undoubtedly affect you if you were left alone. So I sent Remus to you with a letter, deciding I had better not trust such important information to an owl – and then, thinking that it may not have been safe for him to travel alone and with a full moon approaching, I sent Severus after him. I trust you found each other all right?" he added tranquilly.

"He found him," said Sirius, shortly, before Lupin was given a chance to reply, and Snape shot him a venomous glance. 

"Well, well," carried on Dumbledore, ignoring the small interchange. "I'm glad. So: I asked you to come here immediately, and now here you are." He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"I can see you are still confused," he continued. "And with good reason. I asked Sirius not to tell you what was happening, Harry, simply because – as I'm sure you will have guessed – I wanted to tell you myself. I want you to understand that I do trust you to look after yourself – but you must realise that at the moment, with Voldemort stronger than he has been since that day he foolishly attempted to kill you, we are all under direct threat – and you most of all. So do not go anywhere alone, Harry. Don't wander off on one of your interesting midnight rambles – " He grinned as Harry started guiltily and Snape favoured him with a glare – "At least, not without at the very least Mr Weasley and Miss Granger to accompany you. I don't think that Voldemort will dare attack Hogwarts yet: but we shall see, we shall see. Oh, by the way; your mother, Ron, has forwarded all your school equipment you'll need for next term here… You'll find it all upstairs in your dormitories. Now," he clapped his hands together as if everything were resolved, "I imagine you are all hungry. Let us go downstairs, and see what there is to be eaten."

Harry traipsed back downstairs as if in a dream. There had to be more to it than that: something Dumbledore had missed out. They had all known that Voldemort had risen again – true, not to the extent Dumbledore was suggesting, but all the same… Still puzzling, he walked with Ron and Hermione into the hall where a table was laid out for eleven people. There, to his delight, he saw Hagrid sitting at one of the seats – along with Filch, the caretaker, Professor McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey, the school's matron – and they spent the entire of the meal talking with him, all doubts and worries forgotten. After they'd eaten, they went with Hagrid down to his little gamekeeper's house, and he made them tea.

"So," he boomed. "Sounds like yeh've been in a mite o' trouble, 'arry. Tell me," he suddenly leant forwards over the table at Ron who, taken by surprise, didn't manage to move his head in time, collided with Hagrid, and sat there stunned for a moment. Hagrid however didn't seem to notice. "Tell me – what were the Selkie like? Ah've always wanted to see one…"

Hagrid's voice took on the wistful tone it always did when he talked of creatures most people considered a menace and he considered potential pets. Ron, still blinking, didn't reply for a while.

"I don't think you'd have liked it," he said eventually. "Besides, it wasn't a Selkie, it was a – a – a what was it, Harry?"

"A Brollachan," said Harry, and changed the subject before Ron got upset. "So… how've things been at Hogwarts, Hagrid?"

Hagrid, sufficiently diverted, launched into an account of everything that had happened in their absence, and Harry and the others snuggled up in his enormous armchairs and snoozed, feeling more relaxed than they had done for a long time. Hagrid woke them up at eleven, and guided them through the dark back to the main castle: he took his role of protector seriously, and Harry was grateful to him for it. As he curled up in his bed in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory, the familiar warmth stealing over him, he decided dozily that even if Voldemort _was_ after him, it was worth it, just for this.


	15. 15

The days passed easily enough at Hogwarts: Harry, Ron and Hermione saw little of Sirius, and had to content themselves with their own company. There was no homework for Hermione to do and no Slytherins to avoid; this made for a highly entertaining time as they decided – when no one was looking – to make the most of the Marauder's Map and explore the castle grounds. Ron, in particular, had seemed to decide that he wanted one up on Fred and George: now that he had access to two of the original Marauders, he felt that he had an advantage.

"Where d'you think _this_ one goes?" he asked one day, about two weeks after their arrival. He, Harry and Hermione were lounging in the Gryffindor common room, plates in front of them piled high with food pillaged for them from the kitchens by Dobby, the house elf with an inordinate fondness for Harry and, since the gift of a large maroon jumper which he usually wore as an apron, for Ron. 

Hermione wiped a finger round her now empty plate of what had been a delicious chocolate cake before sucking it clean, and peered over his shoulder. Ron was pointing a sugar quill at what looked like a tunnel: it led to the lower dungeons, and its entrance was marked as being – directly next to Snape's office.

"I have no idea," she replied. "And I don't want to know. Honestly, Ron. Why pick that one? Of all the possible secret tunnels there you have to go and pick the most dangerous one. Typical."

Ron pretended to look affronted. "Scared?" he said. 

Hermione looked completely unabashed. "Of course I am," she retorted. "Anyone in their right mind would be. We always manage to get in enough trouble as it is without you going looking for it."

"But this is an ideal opportunity!" protested Ron, looking to Harry for support. Harry shrugged. "I'll bet you anything you like Fred and George haven't ever tried this one. Who _knows_ what could be down there?"

"Fred and George have some sense, then," muttered Hermione. "I don't want to know what's down there, Ron. For all we know, it could be where Snape keeps all his frog liver. It's right next to his office. Why don't you just ask Sirius where it goes? Or Lupin. By the way – " Hermione turned to Harry, " – Where are they nowadays? I haven't seen either of them – or Snape – for days."

"Then Snape can't be in his office, can he?" said Ron triumphantly. "It would be a perfect time to go and have a little snoop."

Harry wasn't sure how Ron had managed to persuade him, still less Hermione, to sneak out of the Gryffindor common room, down the staircase and into the passageway that led to Snape's office. It certainly wasn't something he would have ever done out of choice: quite apart from the fact that it was twelve o'clock, he was tired, shivering and Hermione had not stopped talking about being expelled for the last half hour, Harry didn't even want to think about what might happen if Snape happened to visit his office for a late-night whatever it was Snape did there. They had stopped outside a horrible portrait of a goblin, that wouldn't stop shaking its head menacingly at them. Harry scowled at it.

"Right," said Ron, business-like. "Have you got your Invisibility Cloak, Harry? Just in case…"

Hermione frowned at him. "Just in case what?" she snapped in a whisper. "Just in case we get attacked by whatever it is down there? Because there's bound to be something, knowing our luck."

Ron shrugged, looking a little bit sheepish. "What's the matter?" he asked. "Nothing'll happen… what could go wrong? We're at Hogwarts. You-Know-Who can't come here – you heard Dumbledore. We might find something interesting."

Harry couldn't be bothered to argue the definition of interesting. Ron had been talking about this trip all day: it was as if he had the idea planted in his head and watered so much it had grown out of control. He'd become obsessed with it – and it was proving slightly worrying. Harry decided he would borrow one of Lupin's Defence Against Dark Arts books tomorrow and look up the side-effects of a fight with a Brollachan… just in case.

Harry sensed that Hermione had just come along to do her best to keep himself and Ron out of trouble, and he was grateful for it: Ron had also been acting strangely around Hermione lately but Harry suspected this was absolutely nothing to do with fighting monsters and more to do with growing up. One minute he was almost embarrassed to talk to her and the next he was busily engaged bickering with her like one half of a married couple: and Hermione, Harry had noticed, was acting rather oddly whenever he mentioned Ron to her as well. 

They had entered a long, narrow and exceedingly dark passageway. The Marauder's Map had instructed them to tap on the left-hand eye of the painted goblin with a wand and it had swung open like a door: they were dependent on the somewhat wavery light from a candle they had borrowed because one of Hermione's conditions on accompanying them was that, beyond getting into the tunnel and the use of the Marauder's Map, absolutely no magic was used whatsoever ("It's the _holidays, _Ron! What _would _Dumbledore say?")

And so now they were traipsing along a corridor they would never have even suspected existed: Harry wondered where it led. All the Marauder's Map had shown them was the tunnel disappearing somewhere underneath the dungeons that laced the lower floors of Hogwarts: descending a long flight of stone steps and falling painfully into Ron's back as he did so, Harry felt the sense of foreboding that had been lying uneasily in his mind grow rapidly.

"Ron," said Hermione suddenly, "I don't like this. I think we ought to go back… I think…"

But they never got to know what exactly Hermione thought. Two things happened at once: firstly, the battery in Harry's torch faltered and the light flickered out pathetically; secondly, and perhaps more worryingly, a very, very pale figure had begun to glow in front of them, too faint to see any features but just visible enough to know that it was there. It stood facing them, hazy golden aura as dim as the dying sun – and then it spoke. 

Or rather, it laughed. The voice was deep and rather hollow-sounding: the laugh, though it had been soft, resonated around the room they had found themselves in, bouncing off the stone walls like some haphazard, crazy ball the figure had thrown. One minute the voice would seem to be coming from behind them, the next it sounded as though it was to their left, and all of a sudden there it was, laughing harder than ever – straight in front of them.

Harry acted quickly. He didn't know what instinct urged him to; but as the figure – whatever it was – in front of them drew an almost silent breath he charged into Ron and Hermione, bringing all three of them crashing to the ground in a bruised heap.

"_Illuviate!_" cried the voice, at the same time, and from where he now lay on his back on the ground Harry could see a blinding flash of light fly over their heads and into the wall behind them. But the invisible owner of the spell had lost his or her advantage: Harry whipped out his own wand – but before he was given the chance to try a hex there was another flash, this time a paler, less violent one, and whatever it was that had been there was gone. Harry picked himself up. 

"What was _that_?" asked Ron, shaken. He helped Hermione to her feet, and brushed feebly at his clothes. "And what did it say? 'Illuviate'? What's that mean?"

Harry and Hermione shook their heads. 

"Come on," whispered Hermione. "Let's get back. We shouldn't have come here in the first place."

Harry agreed, and led the way quickly back through the tunnel to the secret entrance by Snape's office. They were so intent on not being caught up with whatever had been in the stone room that they hardly paused for breath: up the stone stairs they went, back along the corridor in the pitch black and somehow, finally, into the tunnel that led to the goblin portrait. 

But instead of carrying on, instead of running back through the painting and up to their nice, safe Gryffindor dormitories, their eyes were alerted to a dull square of light that looked like it came from a distant doorway. Harry frowned: he hadn't noticed it before.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing: and then, as he realised that the others couldn't see him do this, he began to describe it. But there was no need.

"I dunno," said Ron, interrupting him. "Let's go and find out, shall we?"

"It's in the same direction as Snape's office…" warned Hermione, rather nervously. "Do you think we ought to…?"

But Ron was gone, and Harry with him. Hermione followed.

They found themselves standing in a small room lit by one candle, and it seemed to be an annexe of Snape's study. It was full of jars of pickled things (Harry didn't dare imagine what) and bats. He moved over curiously to one and poked it, but it didn't move, and Harry decided that it was stuffed. 

"Hey!" said Ron. "Look at these! Letters!"

"Ron," hissed Hermione. "We shouldn't be looking at his letters… they might be personal." But she took them, nonetheless.

As she read down the page, her face reddened and reddened in the soft candlelight until Harry wondered if maybe this wasn't some kind of trick letter of Snape's to turn her into a kind of vegetable or something – perhaps a beetroot – but eventually she put the letter back down onto Snape's desk and covered it with a heavy cauldron he obviously used as a paperweight.

"Well?" asked Ron, impatiently. "What does it say? Hermione?"

Hermione still looked embarrassed. "Let's just say it starts 'My dearest love'…" 

"Oh my _God_!" exclaimed Ron, dancing round her to try and grab them back and being rewarded with a sharp poke in the arm from Hermione. 

"And ends '…Forever yours, Severus,'" she finished. "And I'll leave the middle bit to your imagination."

"Severus. What an unromantic name," mused Ron. Harry raised one eyebrow at him.

"Well – " he began defensively, before it could suddenly occur to Harry or Hermione to ask him what exactly he considered a 'romantic' name – "I mean… Percy always signs _his_ letters – I mean, I don't read them, I – "

The other eyebrow flew up, and so did Hermione's. Ron's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"OK so I do. That's not the point. The point is that he signs his to Penny at least Perce, or sometimes 'fluffy-bun' or 'pink-cuddly-rabbit' or… what's the matter? Why are you laughing? What have I…" Ron trailed off as Harry and Hermione clutched at each other, helpless with laughter at the image of the prim and proper Percy referring to himself as the 'pink-cuddly-rabbit' and trying desperately not to make too much noise as they did so. Ron joined in the laughter, but only after he had carefully detached Hermione from Harry. 

"Thing is… Snape hasn't really got a name you can shorten, has he?" asked Harry. "I don't really think I can picture him signing a letter the 'pink-fluffy-potions-master'. I mean – how can you make 'Severus' easier to say?"

"Sever," said Ron at once, making an abrupt chopping motion with his hand. 

"Sev_ere_," corrected Hermione. She gave a mock and extremely severe glare: Ron winced at the likeness.

"Sev?" suggested Harry.

"Sevvie!" giggled Hermione, and all three of them once again dissolved into fits of laughter, only too pleased to let some of the tension that had been building up slip out. It wasn't until someone swung the goblin's portrait open and light flooded through to them, and they turned to find out who that they discovered Professor Snape was standing by the door, listening to every word they'd said. 


	16. 16

Harry tried to think of a time when he'd been anticipating getting into trouble as much as he was now, and couldn't. Snape had simply led them in silence to Dumbledore's study, without having said a word, and now he, Ron and Hermione stood outside the door too apprehensive to say anything. 

Finally it swung open to reveal a solemn looking Dumbledore, and a rather angrier looking Sirius and Snape. Harry, Hermione and Ron immediately launched into an account of the journey, relating every detail in case Dumbledore felt it necessary to ask Snape to concoct them a truth potion as he had done for Barty Couch (they didn't want to trust Snape to make them any kind of potion given the look on his face at the moment) – missing out only Percy's confidential aliases. 

"It was my fault," added Ron tonelessly, when they'd finished. "I made them come with me. It was stupid. I don't even know _why_ I wanted to go so much… It just seemed like something really important. Like something depended on it… and… I…" He floundered helplessly, and shrugged at Dumbledore. "I dunno," he finished, quite unhelpfully. Dumbledore looked at him gravely. 

"You were correct, Ron: it was stupid," he said. "But," he added, as Snape nodded sanctimoniously in the corner, "I'm not sure it was entirely your fault. There have been cases of people being lured into situations like you describe, and you say yourself you don't have any clear idea of why you wanted to go there… Tell me more about this figure you saw."

Harry repeated what he had told them earlier. 

"And he tried to cast a spell on you?" enquired Dumbledore.

Harry, who had already told him that he had three times now, just nodded. 

"Well what _was_ it?" demanded Sirius. "What did he say?"

"He said – what was it… _Illuviate_, I think. I might be – " Harry stopped talking as Dumbledore, Snape and Sirius all exchanged a rather startled look with each other. 

"He said what?" demanded Sirius. 

"Illuviate…" repeated Harry, wondering why they looked so worried all of a sudden. "Why? What's it mean?"

"Nothing," said Sirius shortly. "I think the Headmaster was right. I think Voldemort may have tried to lure you down there… Maybe you all ought to go up to the hospital wing, Harry. Yes; I think you should."

Dumbledore nodded. "An extremely good idea," he said. "Well, Harry, Ron, Hermione: I think we'll just leave it there… We'll put this down to a mixture of curiosity and being led astray, but – no more wandering off, is that clear? I had asked you to find some less dangerous way to occupy yourselves before. We cannot constantly be looking out for you: we have dangerous enough work of our own to do. You were lucky Professor Snape found you when you did – although I guess from the looks on your faces you'd disagree with me there… well, well. Bed, I think. And hot chocolate. Go and ask Madam Pomfrey to make you some, and we will see you in the morning. Now," he said, turning to Sirius and Severus, obviously drawing Harry and the others' audience to a close, "I trust you'll join me for a drink? Let me see…" He conjured three steaming cups of hot chocolate out of the air and took one with relish. "Ah," he said, taking a deep sip. "Marvellous. Do help yourselves."

Sirius, after one final and doubtful look at Harry, took one of the remaining cups and thanked Dumbledore. Snape, however, seemed to decline.

"I'm going to bed," he announced haughtily. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Severus," answered Dumbledore, dipping a pink-iced biscuit that hadn't been there a minute ago into his cocoa. "If you're going back to your rooms, I wonder if you'd be good enough to see that our accident-prone trio here find their way to the hospital without disappearing off down any more mysterious holes?"

"Certainly," replied Snape grimly. He stalked through the door, and Harry, Ron and Hermione trailed after him miserably. As soon as he had closed it tight behind him, Snape whirled round to them furiously.

"It's obvious that Dumbledore has allowed his misplaced favouritism to get the better of him," he snarled. "And his sense of judgement is therefore somewhat marred by it. But," he leant his face down very close to Harry's, "If I ever, _ever_ catch you somewhere you shouldn't be again, or doing something you shouldn't do, or saying something you shouldn't be saying, then I'll have you out of this school as quick as THAT!" He snapped his long fingers so suddenly that Harry nearly stumbled back in shock. 

"OK," he said, feeling that it was too late at night to be picking a fight with Snape when all he really wanted to be doing was sleeping. Snape straightened up, apparently satisfied. 

"You can find your own way to the hospital wing," he snapped. "But I'll be expecting you back in your dormitories by two o'clock."

He marched off, back straight as a poker, and Harry and the others stared after him in a mixture of shock and apprehension before Hermione had the sense to look at her watch.

"Harry!" she screamed. "It's ten to two! We've only got ten minutes before we get expelled!" and she took off in a whirl of black robes, leaving the other two to follow her as best they could.

The next day, after breakfast, they returned to their common room and talked about the previous night. It had started to rain: the weather deepened the depression that had stared to form after the incident with Snape, and all three were in a rather dejected mood as they sat curled up on the comfy Gryffindor sofas. 

"What I want to know is," said Hermione, frowning, "What does _Illuviate_ mean? Why did Dumbledore and Sirius and Snape go all funny when we told them about it?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "Never heard of it before. Let's go and – oof!" 

The 'oof' was caused by something small and feathery cannoning into his stomach with such a force that he was almost knocked onto the floor by it. 

"What…?" he began, taken by surprise. An affectionate chirruping from somewhere around his midriff made him look down; still bewildered, he made a grab at whatever it was making a noise and held his hand up to the light.

"Pig!" he exclaimed. Pigwidgeon nestled a fluffy head against his palm and Ron dropped him as it tickled. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, grabbing the owl back again before he tried to attach himself to Harry or Hermione, and examining him carefully. He took a small note from the little bird's leg. 

"What is it?" enquired Harry curiously. 

Ron's face had turned slightly pink at the edges. "Nothing," he said quickly, and stuffed it into his pocket. "Just a note from mum, that's all. Dumbledore or… er… I think it might have been Snape sent her an owl about… about the other night and she was a bit – er – worried about us. Let's go and look in the library, shall we?" he added brightly, changing the subject and causing Harry and Hermione to stare at him in astonishment. "To see if we can find out what _Illuviate_ means," he explained.

"You?" exclaimed Hermione, still staring at him. "You? Want to go to the library?"

"Well, yeah – it won't get us expelled," replied Ron, deliberately misunderstanding her. Standing up, he tucked Pigwidgeon into his shirt pocket and set off, leaving Harry to shake his head with a shared puzzlement at Hermione. Whatever had been in Ron's mum's letter, he thought that it must have been extremely embarrassing if Ron wanted to go to the library instead of sharing it with them. But Hermione was looking after Ron with a glint in her eye: it suddenly occurred to Harry that she might think she'd managed to convert him into a book-lover and, giggling at the idea, he followed his best friend. Perhaps the library could be quite interesting after all.

They caught up with Ron just before the library doors, and he was looking like he regretted his suggestion. As they made their way to the chairs by the restricted books section, he kept darting his eyes left and right as though looking for and escape route: but there was none, and he sunk down into a chair and played with Pig instead.

"Are you going to help?" enquired Hermione, arms already laden with a great stack of books. "Or are you going to show us your letter? Is it really from your mother… or is it from pink-fluffy-Percy? Or a purple-fluffy-someone else?"

"No," said Ron shortly. "To both questions."

Hermione put the books down and produced a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She seemed to skim through the words: his face suddenly alarmed, Ron made a snatch for it – but Hermione was too quick for him. 

"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron. "How did you get that?"

"Harry wasn't the only one Fred and George taught how to pickpocket," she replied coyly. "Let's see now… Ooh, dear, Ron – you were right – your mother was a bit – er – _worried_ about you, wasn't she? Tut tut…"

Ron let out a resigned sigh. "OK then," he said, holding out his hand. "Stop reading it… give me the letter and I'll read some books."

Hermione handed it over, and smirked. She dumped the books she had been carrying into Ron's hand – Harry was sure she'd chosen the heaviest she could find.

"Have fun," she said.

Eight and a half hours later and not one reference to 'Illuviate' had been found. Hermione was still ploughing through the rapidly diminishing pile of books on their table, but Ron and Harry had long since given up trying and were attempting to train Pigwidgeon to understand the word 'shhh' – without, it must be said, much success.

"Ooh," said Hermione suddenly, making Harry look up at her quickly and Ron let go of Pigwidgeon in surprise.

"What is it?" he asked worriedly, staring at the expression on her face. Hermione had turned almost pink with excitement. 

"I've just remembered… _Illuviate_… where we might find out what it means."

"Where?" said both Harry and Ron, at once. 

"It's this book – " began Hermione. 

"Impossible. We must've looked at every single book in the library," grouched Ron. "I haven't worked that hard since we tried to get Buckbeak off. _And_ it's meant to be a holiday," he added.

"Well, I was doing some homework last year – " carried on Hermione, ignoring him.

"Well, that makes a pleasant change," said Ron. 

" – And I thought I'd do a bit of extra research – "

"Even more unusual."

" – and I spent all my lunch break in the restricted books section of the library – "

"Oh, really? Now, why doesn't that surp– "

"And I couldn't find what I wanted." Hermione flung an evil glare at Ron, evidently tired of his interruptions. "So I asked Professor McGonagall if she knew where I could find another version of some spell or other – I can't remember what it was now – and she told me that Professor Trelawny had something that might be what I needed. So I borrowed this book called '_Alternative Spells'_ – it's like a big dictionary, full of all these old spells and curses that people don't use very often any more. I bet _Illuviate_ would be in there."

So they set off up the huge staircase that led to Professor Trelawny's quaint little study. Harry had the sinking feeling that they were only going to get into more trouble: but Hermione was oddly confident – even cheerful – at the prospect.

"Oh, no, we'll be fine," she said breezily when he voiced his concern. Hermione had always shown an uncharacteristic lack of regard for Professor Trelawny, considering she was a teacher, and Harry hoped it hadn't developed into a foolhardiness that was going to lead them even further astray. Maybe, he thought in a sudden panic, maybe she had been 'lured' towards Trelawny's room as Ron had been to the dungeons: maybe she was leading them into a trap. Maybe she was…

"Here we are," said Hermione. She pushed open the trap door and disappeared: Harry and Ron followed doubtfully. Reaching carefully on tiptoe to the top of one of the narrow shelves, Hermione selected a monstrous looking volume that was at least the size of Dobby and Harry looked at it with dislike. But Hermione did not seem to notice. She busied herself with the book, and Harry and Ron flopped down into the pastel-shaded beanbags that Professor Trelawny had spread around the small room, preparing themselves for a long wait. The combination of Hermione and a book usually required a lot of patience from anyone who happened to be with her at the time, and they occupied themselves by making little paper aeroplanes out of spare scraps of paper on Professor Trelawny's desk and flinging them at each other. Hermione spared them one superior look before settling down and ignoring them. 

"This is interesting," said Hermione in an odd voice, finally looking up from the pages of the huge book.

"Bound to be," mumbled Ron. "What is?"

"Well," continued Hermione, ignoring Ron's cynical mutter, "You'll never guess what _Illuviate_ is another version of!"

As she didn't seem inclined to tell them immediately, Ron snatched the book from her hands. "Let's see," he said. Harry peered over his shoulder, and read. 

Below "_Illuminatus – (obsolete) a strong spelle to make ye darke ways light – see also 'Lumos,_'" at the top of the page there was a very brief line that contained three words.

"_Illuviate_," it read. "_See 'Fragmento'_."

Hermione was looking at them triumphantly, obviously expecting them to share her excitement. Harry had the feeling that he and Ron were missing out on something.

"Er – what?" he asked. Hermione gave an impatient sigh, and retrieved the book from Ron. She stabbed at the entry with her finger. 

"This!" she exclaimed. "_See Fragmento_. Well?" She looked at the other two expectantly, and they both shook their heads, still as mystified as they had been before.

"It means to shatter!" screeched Hermione. "Don't you ever pay attention in _any_ of your lessons? Don't you ever _read_ any of the text books?"

Ron, commendably, held his tongue. Harry wondered why: and then noticed that his friend was eyeing up various objects in the room with a rather vicious expression, as though contemplating their suitability for something.

"Try it out now," said Ron. "Try it on… Look, try it on one of her teacups. The pink one that she made Neville super-glue back together last year, see?"

"Oh, I couldn't!" said Hermione, looking at Ron in surprise. "It's still the holidays. We aren't allowed to use magic. And it's a _curse_! What would Dumbledore say?"

"Oh, he won't mind," snapped Ron, waving an impatient hand at her. "Come on! I want to see if it works."

Hermione snapped the book shut with a loud clang, and clouds of dust billowed out, enveloping Harry and Ron and making them cough.

"No," she said. "You've got me into enough trouble as it is. We shouldn't be up here in Professor Trelawny's study, and we didn't find anything useful. I'm going to go and see Crookshanks. I can't believe you aren't taking this seriously – don't you see – whoever was down there was trying to _kill_ us!" She deposited the large volume on Ron's lap, making him sink even further into his beanbag, and strode off. Ron looked after her in astonishment.

"_Well_," he said, struggling out from underneath the book and lifting a few pages experimentally. "It's not as if it was _all_ my fault. She suggested coming here in the first place!" He shook his head. "Girls," he muttered.


	17. 17

__

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed it so far - I'm glad you all like it. There are about seven or eight more chapters to come, I think - keep reviewing! Thanks ~M~

They had been nearly a month at Hogwarts now. Harry sighed. He never thought he'd hear himself say this, but he almost missed the lessons – the bustle of the huge crowds of people – and, most of all, he missed Quidditch. Since the fiasco with the secret tunnel (and with the exception of the small excursion to Professor Trelawny's attic), he, Ron and Hermione had kept a decidedly low profile, especially from Snape. Hermione had refused to do anything even remotely exciting, and kept reminding them of the _Illuviate_ curse – something Harry and Ron would rather have forgotten. The result of this was that they spent most of their time skulking in the Gryffindor common room, and Harry was bored with it. 

"Let's do something…" he said, one afternoon. Ron rolled over on the couch where he'd been lounging.

"Like what?" he asked lazily. 

"Nothing dangerous," said Hermione at once. "Nothing that's going to get us expelled." It seemed that she had taken Snape's threat very seriously. 

Harry waved an impatient hand in the air. "No, no… nothing like that," he said. "What about a game of Quidditch? Ron – your mum's forwarded all our stuff here, hasn't she? Well – she'll have sent my Firebolt, then. Come on – let's go and have a game. And I could do with visiting Hedwig, too," he added as an afterthought.

"Fine." Ron stood up, stretching, and yawned loudly. "I'd like to see Pig. And you can get that ginger thing of yours, Hermione."

Hermione looked as though she were about to pick up on the ginger comment, when her face suddenly lit up.

"Herbert!" she exclaimed. "Ron! You haven't seen Herbert!"

Harry hid a smile as he saw a flicker of jealousy cross Ron's face at the mention of another male name, but when Hermione explained he was a parrot he brightened considerably.

"OK then," he said. "Off we go."

In the end, they decided not to bother with the Quidditch game. It would be dark in less than two hours: Harry had no desire to play by light of the moon, round and bright though it would be, and instead they spent an enjoyable hour or so with the birds before realising that they had not yet eaten any lunch.

"Let's go and see Dobby," said Hermione, placing Herbert gently on top of Hedwig's empty cage and leaving the two owls and the parrot to fly around as they left the owlery. "And Winky. I wonder how she is?" 

The last time they had seen Winky she had been drowning her sorrows of newfound freedom in a bottle of something: Harry thought that Dumbledore had probably done his best to rectify the situation, and hoped that the little elf was happy. As they descended the stairs leading from the tower, they peered about them curiously. There was an odd lack of people – even for the holidays. 

"Where is everyone?" asked Ron. "I'd expect at least Filch to be lurking around somewhere ready to shout at us. But I haven't even seen Mrs Norris: or Peeves. Is there something going on I don't know about?"

Harry shrugged. He was about to respond when something odd caught his eye: bending down, he snatched a scrap of paper up from the floor and looked at it curiously. He was sure that neither he nor the other two had dropped it; and, since Filch was fanatical about the state of the corridor, and they hadn't seen anyone else around for ages he wasn't really sure who had. The side he was looking at was blank: idly, he flicked it over – and then dropped it in shock.

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione. "What's wrong? What is it?"

Harry was standing, shaking, staring at the small piece of paper where it lay harmlessly on the floor. Hermione glanced at Ron and, obviously deciding that Harry was beyond speech, his best friend stooped to pick it up, wondering why on earth Harry was behaving so oddly. He hoped it wasn't another letter from Snape…

"Oh no…" said Ron, as he saw it. Hermione snatched it from him.

"_What_ are you – Oh," she finished in a dismayed whisper. "One of those."

Because, scrawled crudely onto the paper in what looked like red ink was a sign that the three of them had seen once before, at the Quidditch World Cup, sparkling in the air. Harry knew who had made it then: what he didn't know was who the creator of this one was. He hoped with all his heart that it wasn't anyone he knew in Hogwarts – but, the more he hoped, the less likely the possibility seemed.

It was a Dark Mark.

"Oh – oh," Hermione was whimpering. "Who – why – what shall we…"

Harry didn't hesitate. He knew where they had to go: Dumbledore's study. Quickly. Snatching the paper from Ron's hand he sped back up along the corridor to Dumbledore's study: he didn't stop for breath, or for Ron and Hermione to catch up with him, or even for Peeves, who flew straight at him, bombarding him with the last remnants of the Christmas cake. Harry strode forwards without seeing him, and Peeves was forced out of the way with one last disappointed chunk of marzipan aimed at Harry's left ear. It missed, and fell on top of Mrs Norris. Peeves rapidly disappeared as Filch miraculously materialised out of nowhere to attack the poltergeist with one of his brooms, and Harry arrived outside the Headmaster's door just as a maniacal cackle announced Filch's victory.

"Professor Dumbledore?" he called, knocking so hard on the wooden door that his knuckles popped. He ignored them. "Professor!"

"Harry?" said Dumbledore, through the door. "Come in. Oh, no; wait a moment: I seem to have barricaded myself in… Hang on there a minute. What can I do for you?" There were noises of violent upheaval as Dumbledore apparently rearranged the furniture in his study. In spite of himself, Harry couldn't help but grin at the image. 

"I have something to tell you, Professor – it's urgent." Harry had to raise his voice above the noises of something scraping across the floor. 

"Fire away," said Dumbledore, cheerfully. "I'll be through in a minute – ah, nearly…"

"We were just going to the – well, we were going… somewhere, when we found this piece of paper. And it's got a – it's got a Dark Mark on it." 

There was a pause. Then: "Harry," came Dumbledore's voice, urgently, "Listen to me carefully. I know that what I'm about to suggest may well sound ludicrous – but I'm afraid we have no options left now. Voldemort is coming: you must hide. Use the secret way you discovered last week: I will meet you there as soon as I may. Hurry. Now."

With a quick glance at his companions, who each nodded, Harry turned and led the way quickly back down the corridor to the portrait of the little goblin. Touching it quickly with his wand, he wasted no time in diving through and down the narrow, dark tunnel that led to the dungeons: with a flick of his wand, he murmured a quick _Lumos_, before Hermione could shout at him for using magic when he wasn't supposed to. 

But nothing happened.

"Lumos!" he repeated, louder this time, and shaking his wand harder. "_Lu_mos!"

"Lu_mos_!" added Ron helpfully, joining in. Still nothing. "Why don't you try, Hermione?" he asked hopefully, knowing from bitter experience that Hermione often had a lot more luck than they did when it came to spells. 

"No," said Hermione. "If – if you can't do it, then I won't be able to."

"Why isn't it working?" asked Harry. "What's happened? I don't get it… D'you think it's Voldemort, putting a blocking curse on us or something? Just try it, Hermione. It might be only me and Ron."

But Hermione wouldn't. They carried on in darkness, stumbling over everything that lay in their way, Ron furious with Hermione for not trying to help them and Hermione sulking as a result of this. Harry, who was in front, was grateful for the silence this situation provided: at least, with both of them refusing to talk to each other, he thought, they weren't bickering in their usual manner. He soon reached the door to the first dungeon, and they stopped.

"Do you think it's safe?" whispered Hermione. "I mean – if none of our wands are working, and You-Know-Who could be anywhere…"

"_If_ we had some light," announced Ron – and Harry could tell from his tone of voice that he was glaring at Hermione in the dark – "Then we could have a look at the Marauder's Map and find out where he is. Didn't Lupin say it never lies, Harry? It would show him up, wouldn't it?" His voice had grown excited. 

Harry agreed with him.

"Oh… OK," said Hermione finally. "Lumos. There. See. Nothing happened." Nothing had. Harry sighed. 

"We'll have to risk it," he sighed. "Dumbledore said it was safe, so… Here goes." He pushed at the door, and it swung open noisily. Harry felt his way forwards cautiously, remembering the long flight of steps they had nearly missed the first time they'd come down here. 

"OK," he whispered, as he located them with a groping toes. "The stairs start here… Come on… What was that?"

A noise like something getting dragged along the floor had made him stop still where he stood, and stare back into the dark behind them, but now there was silence once more. Harry blinked.

"I dunno," said Ron, puzzled. "Maybe we just left the door open, and there's a draught…"

"Down here in a dungeon?" retorted Hermione. "I don't think so. How many windy dungeons have you ever been in? How many prisoners have you ever heard of that died of exposure?"

"Oh, OK, whatever," snapped Ron. "It was just a suggestion. You think of a better one."

But Hermione was to be deprived of the chance to take Ron up on his offer, because at that moment a loud explosion caused them all to leap high into the air in shock. They lost all hesitation in carrying on further into the dark: hurtling down the stone steps, the three of them half-ran, half-fell downwards until at last they reached level ground. Harry sat up from where he'd fallen awkwardly: he felt around in the dark for his glasses, patting the floor with his hands and praying that they weren't broken.

"Oi!" came Hermione's startled voice, and Harry withdrew his hand hurriedly. That obviously hadn't been his glasses… Hermione sounded indignant. "Was that you, Ron?"

"No it was not!" replied Ron angrily. "I'm over here trying to work out which way is up. I'm nowhere near you. What were you yelping about anyway?"

"Nothing," muttered Hermione. Harry was, for the first time since they'd gone down the tunnel, glad it was dark enough to hide his face as he blushed furiously. Finally, he found his glasses, and stood up. 

"What do you think that noise was?" he asked, slowly. He couldn't shake off the feeling that someone – or something – was behind them, following them. He wished that he could see. His only consolation was that if he, Ron and Hermione couldn't then neither would his pursuers.

"Not sure," admitted Ron. "But whoever made it…" Although he didn't finish his sentence, his implication hang heavily in the air, and Harry shuddered. 

"Yeah," he said. "We'd better carry on, hadn't we…" They set off again, Hermione keeping a tight grip on his robes and Ron behind her, padding quietly into the blackness. None of them spoke. They were all listening intently to whatever might be heard – which, at the moment, was a dense silence. And then, ever so softly, there was the unmistakable pattering of feet, growing louder by the second.

Harry tensed in the dark, the hairs rising along the back of his neck, and his instinct fully alert now. Half to his surprise, he no longer felt scared: he was simply aware that he and his friends weren't alone – and that something had to be done about it. Silently, he tapped at Ron to get his attention. 

"What is it?" asked Ron, loudly. 

Then: "Duck!" screamed Hermione, startling Ron into obeying her – which was just as well as something whistled through the dark horizontally, slicing cleanly through the air where Ron's neck had been just a few seconds ago. 

"What the – " began Ron, but found no time to finish his sentence as Harry and Hermione grabbed a handful each of his robes and pulled him along the floor. Footsteps could be heard behind them, and all of a sudden, as he saw the metal bolts of the locked door glistening in front of them, Harry knew they had no chance of escape. 

He stopped and turned, like a stag at bay, and beside him felt Ron and Hermione follow suit. The footsteps were coming nearer: Harry wondered why his pursuers weren't talking. But soon he had no time to ponder the question: as soon as he sensed there was someone near, he lashed out as hard as he could with his foot and, to his satisfaction, was rewarded with crushing contact with whatever it was chasing them, and a bruised toe. Encouraged by his success, he followed it up with a hard punch. He didn't dare use his wand in the dark, even if he had thought it worked, in case he hit Hermione or Ron by accident. 

The fight went on. Their opponents' lack of voice was proving to be oddly disturbing: to the left and right of him, Harry could hear the noises made by the scuffle, and the exclamations of triumph and pain from his two friends. But not a squeak was uttered by their attackers. 

Harry elbowed something, hard, and jumped as he heard Ron's voice howl in his ear. 

"Argh – hey!" There was a sound like something had been kicked, and a satisfied grunt from Ron. 

"That showed _you_, didn't it, you – oof!" It seemed that, once again, Ron had fallen victim to some form of violence – and, as Hermione muttered an embarrassed-sounding apology, Harry suddenly realised that it was only them doing the actual fighting. He had received no returning blows, and – 

At that moment something very large and very heavy cannoned into him, sending him crashing to the ground, winded. A stop must be put to this, he decided, feeling his ribs delicately. Now. 

"H-Hermione?" he croaked on a sudden impulse, pushing in vain at the enormous lump sprawled on top of him. It didn't budge.

"What?" said Hermione. 

"Can you – can you remember that other version of _Lumos_ that was in that book we looked at? In Professor Trelawny's study? I think we should look…"

"Harry!" Hermione's voice sounded scandalised. "You know as well as I do that we aren't allowed to use magic in the holidays. I've already tried Lumos. Besides – the spells in that book are forbidden unless you're given permission. I might get expelled! I might – "

"You might think about rearranging your priorities," suggested Ron, panting. "This is no time to worry about getting expelled! Can we sort out the little business of not getting _killed_ first?"

"Well… OK…" said Hermione, sounding like the words were coming out against her better judgement. She gave a long-suffering sigh. 

"_Illuminatus_," she muttered, very quickly, and there was a blinding flash of light that hurt Harry's eyes. "But if I get into trouble, I'm blaming – "

"Hagrid!" exclaimed Harry in amazement, finally rolling out from underneath the dazed-looking giant. "What are you doing here? Why…?"

Harry suddenly felt very confused. As his blinking eyes grew accustomed to the harsh light, he saw the forms of Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape stand up and walk towards him. Not one of them spoke a word. 

"Wh – what's the matter?" he asked, a horrid, sick feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. What was happening? Ron and Hermione came to stand next to him, facing the approach of the three men with wide eyes. 

"Say something!" hissed Ron, suddenly totally unnerved. "What's _wrong_ with you all?"

All men looked equally dishevelled, and equally impatient. Sirius pointed to his lips, and mouthed something at them. 

"Did – did he just say 'newt farm'?" asked Ron, worried. "'Cos if he did, I mean, Harry, I'd be – "

"No, silly!" interrupted Hermione, jumping up and down excitedly. "Mute charm! Somebody's put a mute charm on them!"

"Oh," said Ron, relieved. "Well, hurry up and get it off, then."

"I can't," said Hermione. "I don't know how."

Ron gaped in disbelief. "You – _you_ don't know… you…"

"Ssh!" said Harry. Snape, Sirius and Lupin were all trying to speak to them, with various expressions of urgency on their faces and in various states of health – Harry wondered which one of them had bequeathed Snape the bloody nose, and hoped it had been him. But they were all mouthing the same word.

"What are they saying?" asked Ron, staring intently at Snape's mouth for a minute before shuddering and looking at Sirius's instead. He picked up his wand. 

"Espresso?" he said uncertainly, waving it at them. The four men looked startled to find themselves suddenly holding a bone china cup each filled with strong black coffee, and Ron looked at his wand with a new interest.

"Cool," he said. Lupin drained his cup – and looked like he needed it: Snape glared, and threw his on the floor. Hagrid looked bewildered. 

Harry could see the glimmer of understanding begin to dawn on Hermione's face, and put a hand on her arm before she could try her luck at breaking the spell. He stared at each of the men in turn. 

"How do we know you're real?" he demanded. "How do we know you're not just some trick of Voldemort's?"

Sirius shrugged, clearly exasperated; Hagrid started trying to speak before he realised he couldn't; Snape, looking almost rabid now with fury lunged forwards with his hands outstretched towards Harry's neck and Remus Lupin was having a hard job of restraining him. That at least was in keeping with their characters, thought Harry wryly. 

Lupin shoved Snape into Sirius, and pointed at Harry's pocket. Harry stared at him blankly before he remembered the Marauder's Map: examining it closely for a minute, he finally gave a whistle of relief as he located the seven of them in one of the lower dungeons. 

"It's OK," he said to Hermione, "It's them – go ahead."

"_Ex_presso," said Hermione, with a sideways look at Ron, who shrugged and looked embarrassed. "I'm going to get in so much trouble," she added. 

A sudden babble of noise erupted around Harry's head: hurried, urgent babble. He heard his godfather's voice, and Snape's silky tones: and Ron, and Hermione, and Hagrid, and Lupin. But all that somehow seemed distant; detached – because he was still looking at the Marauder's Map clutched tightly in his left hand. 

And a dot labelled 'Voldemort' was moving slowly towards them. 


	18. 18

Harry had a lot of trouble trying to alert his companions to this fact. Everybody was shouting at the same time: Ron and Hermione were talking loudly at Hagrid; Sirius and Snape's voices were rising steadily as they argued over something, and Harry could see Lupin making placatory gestures, apparently to no avail.

"Er," he said. He was ignored.

"I think we ought to go now…" he tried again – and again no one paid the blindest bit of notice to him. 

"_Voldemort_," he shrieked at last, hoping that he would finally get someone's attention. He was right. The room went silent, and everyone turned to stare at him.

"We know," said Lupin, eventually. "He's been behind – or in front of us – the whole time we were looking for you. We have to get out of here quickly, if we can."

Sirius seemed to notice Harry for the first time since he'd been able to talk. Striding forwards, Harry's godfather grabbed him by his arms, gave him a swift hug and then, to Harry's confusion, an abrupt shake. 

"What are you doing?" shouted Sirius. "You could have got yourselves killed! What were you _thinking_ of, coming down here – tonight of all times?"

Harry gaped at him. "But – " he said, well aware that Sirius was angry because he was worried, but at the same time too indignant to get the words out properly. Ron stepped in to rescue him.

"Dumbledore told us to!" he exclaimed, also evidently trying to understand the source of Sirius's fury. "He sent us down here! He said You-Know-Who was after us, and it was the only way, and that he'd come and join us as soon as he could!"

He, Harry and Hermione waited for Sirius to shout again, but to their surprise he gaped back at Ron.

"_What_?" he demanded. 

"Dumbledore – told us to come here," repeated Ron cautiously. Sirius seemed to realise that his mouth was hanging open, and shut it with a snap. 

"No he didn't," he said flatly.

"Yes he – " began Ron. 

"Dumbledore couldn't have said anything of the sort," explained Sirius, interrupting him and suddenly looking extremely tired. "Because he's been with us, all day – a hundred miles away, gathering stray members of the Order of the Phoenix together. We didn't return until an hour ago. I'm not saying I don't believe you," he said, holding up a hand as three mouths were opened to argue with him, "I'm just saying: whoever it was you heard – it wasn't Dumbledore."


	19. 19

Harry looked at the others in shock. He hadn't expected this; and yet, he thought ruefully to himself – and yet it made sense. They hadn't seen Dumbledore; they'd only heard him through the door to his study. 

"How did you know to come looking for us?" he asked, as the feeling of relief they'd all had on meeting each other dissolved and the need to escape became more concentrated. They started walking again, Hagrid and Lupin in front, then Snape, and then the rest of them scuttling along behind them. Hermione's _illuminatus _spell was being propelled along in front of them by her wand, but this was the only source of light they had; Harry stumbled over his robes in an effort to keep up with Sirius's long strides and hear what he had to say. 

"Well – we got back an hour ago, as I said, and only realised you were gone when Hagrid went to fetch you from the dormitory and found you weren't there. Dumbledore seemed to realise that something had happened: he sent us after you – a hard job, I'll admit, without the Marauder's Map – and he should be following us now. He had something he had to do first. But I don't think any of us had quite anticipated _this_ happening. Tell me – what _are_ you doing down here, Harry?"

Harry quickly filled him in on the night's events. 

"But what happened with your wands?" he asked, when he had finished. "Who put the mute charms on you?" He stepped through a heavy black door and into a slightly wider tunnel, where he could walk two abreast with his godfather.

Sirius sighed. "That was Voldemort," he said. "Yes," he added, as Harry started at the name, "I know. We were remarkably foolish… none of us had guessed that he was actually _in_ the building; Lupin and I reached the secret tunnel, and suddenly were confronted by Voldemort: he took our wands, then disappeared. I'm not sure why – maybe he heard Snape and Hagrid behind us. Anyway… next time we tried to talk we all found that we couldn't, and I'm pleased that one of you, at least – " Harry could have sworn that Ron and Hermione both blushed in the dark – "Could read lips. I honestly don't know what Voldemort had hoped to achieve by silencing us rather than killing us: maybe he wants us alive for something. I don't know."

Harry shivered. Nothing was making sense at the moment. They continued for a while in silence, and he tried to sort through his tangled thoughts.

Who was it they'd heard pretending to be Dumbledore? Why hadn't his scar hurt if had been Voldemort? Who else _was_ there in the castle? Filch? Dobby? Professor McGonagall? Madam Pomfrey? Harry laughed silently to himself. All these seemed impossible candidates for Dumbledore impersonators. Had somebody been drinking Polyjuice potion? Maybe – and fear struck straight at Harry's heart as he thought it – maybe the Dumbledore they'd been seeing and speaking to since they'd arrived hadn't really been Dumbledore at all. He rubbed his aching head. He couldn't puzzle it out. 

He had been thinking so intently that he walked into Ron's back before he realised that they'd stopped. Again, he put a hand to his head: it had begun to sting. Fingering his scar gingerly, he wondered vacantly why Ron wasn't moving.

"What's happened?" hissed Snape's voice. "Lupin, why have we stopped?"

There was no reply from Lupin, and Harry looked over his shoulder with a cold dread beginning to form in his stomach. He had no doubt any more as to why they'd stopped. His scar was now throbbing with an intensity that nearly knocked him off his feet.

Suddenly, he turned and started towards the door they'd just come through, but it shut with a clang; thick vines began to grow quickly around it, groping the wood with their long tendrils and suffocating the lock. In despair, Harry spun round again to evaluate their chances of escape from the room they were in at the moment: but it seemed to be a dead end. He could see no other door in the place except one right at the top of a long set of stone steps similar to the ones at the beginning of the secret passage he, Ron and Hermione had fallen down earlier. 

The only difference in this case was that whereas the first flight had been empty, this one had someone standing at the top looking down at them. 

It was Voldemort. They were trapped. 


	20. 20

Something in Harry's mind, some vague half-memory he had of one of Dudley's children's programmes told him that Voldemort reminded him oddly of a pirate. He wondered why. There was no eye patch, no wooden leg, no bottle of whiskey and Harry was certain that not many pirates had ever worn wizarding robes, but still… And then it clicked. There was a parrot sitting perched on his shoulder.

"Argh!" shrieked Hermione, as she saw this. "Her-Herbert? _Herbert_?"

Harry felt an unpleasant shock as he saw that Hermione was indeed right. The colourful bird was sat preening itself arrogantly on Voldemort's arm, not even looking at them, clacking his beak into his master's ear and swaying gently from one foot to another. Harry had never seen anything so innocent-looking – or so treacherous. 

"_Herbert_?" repeated Voldemort, a mocking note of incredulity in his voice. He stroked Herbert's beak. "What a pathetic name for such a generous creature."

"Suits it," muttered Ron darkly. 

"Suits it," mimicked Herbert at once, in exactly the same tone of voice. 

Harry was thinking. "We should have known," he said, dully. "Remember, Hermione? In your owl you sent me… you said Crookshanks and Herbert didn't get on… That cat's got a better judgement of character than I'll ever have. It's twice now he's tried to warn us about stuff like that."

"I'll bet – " said Ron suddenly, "I'll bet that's how the Selkie and whatever that howling thing was knew where to find us – did you say anything about Sirius in your letter to Harry, Hermione?"

"Well, I – " Hermione looked acutely sheepish, and Harry knew that Ron was right.

"Never mind," he said, feeling sorry for Hermione, who had turned a peculiar shade of pink and wasn't looking at either of them. "It doesn't matter now. I think we should…" He trailed off, not being able to think of anything they _could_ really do, and instead stared with a loathing so fierce it hurt at the wizard standing before him.

Voldemort looked much the same as he had done the last time Harry had seen him, after Peter Pettigrew, the man who had betrayed his parents to him, had used his own and Harry's blood to transform his master from a hideous mockery of a baby into the full-grown man he saw now. Harry dug his nails into his palms so hard they drew blood, and he forced himself to be calm. It was the first time he had not faced his enemy alone – he was in the company of five other people he cared for (and Snape) and he had no wish to do anything that might cause them harm. 

So he waited, as everyone else was waiting, for Voldemort to speak first. 

"Much as I enjoy your company," he said, to Harry's surprise, "I can't stay with you for long… at the moment. I fear I will have to leave you – but believe me, I will return. I have some… business I must attend to." His level gaze took them all in, lingering a little longer on Harry and Snape. 

"But first," he continued, obviously enjoying the six identically resigned expressions, "I must congratulate you, Harry, on rising to my bait of the Dark Mark and leading your friends down here for me. Very nice of you."

"And what about Dumbledore?" asked Sirius. "Did you pretend to be him, too? To make Harry come down here?"

"I had no need," replied Voldemort, smiling. "My friend here – Herbert, as you call him – has an excellent talent for imitating voices, as I'm sure you're aware… He has been a most useful addition to my entourage."

Hermione clutched Harry's arm, tightly. He patted her hand, feeling slightly awkward.

"Not your fault," he whispered. "Remember Scabbers."

Ron had overheard. "Had me fooled for years," he said kindly. "Easy mistake to make, isn't it?" Hermione smiled at him gratefully, and transferred her hand from Harry's arm to Ron's.

"How touching," said Voldemort, who had observed the small scene. "Your little friend is right, Harry… It is an easy mistake to make, placing your trust in someone who doesn't deserve it… A pity your father never realised it."

Only Hagrid's pincer-like grip on both Harry and Sirius prevented the pair of them from springing forwards to attack Voldemort, and the wizard laughed at the sight.

"Then again," he said, "It is always useful to have people about you that you know will remain loyal… those who are too scared of what the consequences of betrayal might be. I myself have made your father's mistake, Harry: I placed my trust in some people who it appears did not merit it – isn't that right, Severus? _You_ know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

Snape didn't reply. 

Voldemort continued. "Yes," he said, "Loyalty can often be misplaced. All of you, now – " he waved an expansive arm around the room that encompassed all its occupants – "Have you never considered that you might be serving the wrong side? I can assure you, when I return to power I will reward those who recognise my might, just as I will punish those who went against me." Again, he directed another nasty look at Snape. "What about you?" he added, looking at Hagrid, who still had Harry in one hand and Sirius in the other. "Giants have traditionally sided with my kind… will you not join with me?"

Hagrid looked as though he'd just bitten into the wrong end of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. 

"I would rather," he said with dignity, "Eat a Hungarian Horntail." Coming from Hagrid and all his notorious views of such animals, this was saying quite a lot.

Voldemort's expression blackened. "Fool!" he cried. "Fool. One day, you will be made to see the error of your decision… and it will not be pleasant. I won't bother asking the werewolf," he added, looking now at Lupin with a sneer. "The self-righteous werewolf… doing all he can as a human to right all the wrongs he could commit as a wolf… but it cannot change the fact, can it? It cannot change the fact that, once a month, you become a Dark Creature yourself… Be very careful, werewolf. Be careful that your _true_ instinct does not take over your façade of harmlessness; can you deny that you take pleasure in the thrill of the chase? In the blood of innocent creatures?"

"No," said Lupin, surprisingly cheerfully. 

Voldemort looked just a little bit as though the wind had been taken out of his sails at this unexpected agreement. Harry, though, detected a certain look of despair as he peered closer at Lupin: some of Voldemort's words had obviously hit home. 

"Well," said Voldemort. "I shall leave you… for now. As I say, I have a little business to attend to first…"

Odd though it seemed, Harry had stopped listening to Voldemort. He was fingering his scar with astonishment: for the pain from it was muted now: it seemed to have settled into a dull throb rather than the piercing agony Voldemort's presence had caused to begin with. Harry wondered why. Maybe Voldemort was not as powerful as he had been at their last encounter? Harry didn't know. But the thought gave him hope.

"… When I return, Potter," Voldemort was saying, as he refocused on the wizard's words. Harry stared back at him blankly. And then he was gone: no flash of light, no explosion – simply a nothingness that filled the space where he'd been standing. 

As if suddenly released by a string, the small company collapsed down onto the stone floor and merely looked at each other: words were unnecessary and there was not much, Harry reflected, that could be said. Sirius, Snape, and Lupin looked grim: Ron and Hermione part scared and part furious, and Hagrid seemed to be wilting in relief. Harry felt the same way.

Suddenly, he noticed that Ron and Hermione's expressions had changed, and they were staring at him in dismay. Or rather, they were staring at something: as neither made eye contact, Harry couldn't possibly imagine what.

"Is anything wrong?" he asked, worried at his friends' stricken faces. 

"Er – nothing," said Ron, with the look of one who didn't want to break bad news. 

"What?" insisted Harry, impatiently. He followed Ron's gaze to his robe pocket just as his friend tore his gaze away from it. And Harry groaned aloud. 

"The Invisibility Cloak! If only I'd remembered it…" He sank down, dejected, into the floor, welcoming its hardness. Of all the stupid things… they could all be safe now, if it hadn't been for his stupidity in forgetting about it… He groaned again, and then was silent. He felt horribly guilty about the whole thing: he also had no idea why Voldemort hadn't killed the 'spares' – Ron, Hermione, Sirius, Snape and Lupin – as he had done Cedric Diggory. 

Sighing at the injustice and confusion of it all, Harry rocked backwards and forwards on his heels, hugging his knees. What could happen? Surely their only hope now lay in a rescue from Dumbledore – when he'd finished doing whatever he had been doing, and if he knew where to look for them. Judging from the twists and turns they'd taken on their way down to the dungeons, Harry thought this possibility very unlikely. 

How long he sat like this Harry could not tell: but, when he finally readjusted his thoughts onto the present situation, he realised to his surprise that some time had passed. Frustrations were evidently running high. Sirius and Snape were bristling whenever they looked at each other; it seemed all they could do to ignore the other man instead of attack him.

"I wonder to what extent the blocking curse is effective," said Snape finally. The words were ground out: he seemed to be attempting to help almost in spite of himself. Sirius didn't say anything.

"We might _try_ something," continued Snape, the words coming out even more reluctantly than before. Harry could tell he was annoyed at Sirius's lack of response.

"Voldemort's got my wand," replied Harry's godfather tonelessly, as though he hadn't really heard, or didn't think the comment worthy of a longer answer.

"Voldemort didn't take _my_ wand," Snape reminded him. "Only yours and Lupin's."

"Oh – I wonder why?" There was a distinctly nasty glint to Sirius's eye as he spoke – but, to Harry's intense surprise, Snape did not pick up on the remark straight away. He looked as though he was about to speak, when Ron jumped in excitedly.

"You could apparate!" he said. "And go and get Dumbledore."

"You can't apparate in Hogwarts," reminded Snape disdainfully. "What I was about to suggest was that – "

"He would if he could, Ron," said Sirius grimly, completely ignoring the Professor. "A very sensible suggestion."

Ron looked nervously at Snape, as the Potions master flashed both him and Sirius an equally vindictive glare. 

"And you wouldn't, I suppose?" he retorted spitefully. "If only you had a little _patience_, Black, you might be able to hear what I am attempting to tell you, and you might find it to your advantage. But then; patience was never one of your stronger points, was it? Maybe if you'd had a little more patience at keeping Potter's secrets then – "

"ENOUGH!" roared Sirius. He was shaking. "How _dare_ you? How – "

"What were yeh goin' to say, Professor?" asked Hagrid, his deep rumbling voice easily drowning out Sirius's furious shouts and surreptitiously flapping his hand at Lupin to get him to try and calm Sirius down. 

"Yes," added Hermione. "It sounded very – er – interesting."

"Do tell," said Lupin, but through clenched teeth: he sounded as annoyed as Harry had ever heard him at Snape's insinuations. Sirius only growled. 

"I was merely going to suggest," said Snape coolly, "That I tried a summoning spell. We know that some spells work and others do not: it would appear that obscure forms of the more common charms have some effect. I don't see why we shouldn't try it."

"And what would you summon?" asked Sirius, apparently calm again. 

"I am open to suggestions," said Snape. 

The only thing Harry could think of that he really wanted was, at that precise moment in time, a bed – but Snape had a point. It was worth a go.

"Try something simple first," suggested Lupin. "And see if it works."

Snape nodded, and waved his wand. Nothing happened. He tried again, concentrating so hard that his face went almost white – but to no avail. Snape stormed away into a corner. The summoning charm would not work, and Harry could not think of another way they could possibly get out of this one… Utterly dejected, he looked at Ron and Hermione where they sat by Hagrid. Both seemed as miserable as he did: Hermione's face had gone blank, a sure sign that her mind was elsewhere – probably trying to think of more spells, thought Harry – and Ron's forehead was furrowed into deep lines of worry. 

Harry sighed, and turned his scrutiny towards Lupin. He was looking ill again. In fact… 

"Oh, no," moaned Hermione, suddenly looking up as though reading his mind. "You know what tonight is…"

Lupin's tired, shadowed eyes turned to look at them. "Yes," he said. "I had hoped that we would be back in safety by now, but finding you proved to be slightly more difficult than we'd envisaged… And I haven't taken the potion, either. Sirius, you'll have to do something… A pity there's not an extra room here."

Sirius nodded. "I know," he agreed. "And there's no way you can apparate?" 

Lupin shook his head, miserably. "Voldemort has my wand," he reminded him. "And besides, quite apart from no one being able to apparate or disapparate at Hogwarts – he's obviously done something to stop us from using any kind of strong magic: Severus couldn't summon anything just now, could he? I'm sorry," he added to Harry, who was listening, "That you'll have to see me transform. It isn't a pleasant sight."

Snape suddenly reappeared from out of nowhere, looking smugly at Lupin. 

"Having problems?" he asked silkily, grinning a predatory grin. Harry looked at him with distaste. 

"No, thank you, Severus," said Lupin mildly.

"Are you sure?"

"_Quite_ sure," growled Sirius. 

Snape didn't quite lose his smile, despite the undisguised hostility of Sirius's reply. 

"Ah," he said. "Because I would have thought that – it being the night of a full moon – I would have thought that you might be having a few technical difficulties. Obviously I was wrong. Might I enquire, however, how exactly you intend to restrain the wolf – how you intend to stop him attacking us all?"

"No," said Sirius. "Not really." He was frowning: he looked as though he were trying to work it out himself. 

"I only ask," continued Snape sweetly, "Because I seem to recall that you don't have a wand with you. Furthermore, as we have established, I believe there is some kind of blocking charm at work here… Still; if you're sure you have the situation under control, I'll leave you to it."

"Severus!" called Lupin, as he turned away. "Wait – please." The look on Snape's face at this request was an odd combination of hunger and pleasure, and Harry wondered why. Perhaps Snape enjoyed people talking to him politely and as though they actually needed him, or perhaps he merely liked the position he had of Lupin asking him a favour. As Lupin was nearly always polite to him, Harry suspected the latter of the two options. 

"Yes?" he enquired lazily. Sirius was frowning at both men, and Harry looked between the three of them nervously. 

"Could you lend Sirius your wand? So he can stop me from attacking you all when I transform?" Lupin looked terribly guilty already, as though anticipating the prospect. Harry sympathised. He didn't really want to be locked in a small room with a hungry and unrestrained werewolf.

"No," said Snape. 

"God's sake, man!" exploded Sirius. "Do you want him to savage you?"

Snape regarded him coldly. "Like you'd care if he did," he said. "I wouldn't trust you to secure him properly – not with your past history. I wouldn't put it past you to turn him on us – while you remain safe in your dog form. No. I won't lend you my wand."

Sirius's eyes had widened incredulously and Harry realised that he was genuinely too angry to speak, or even attack Snape. 

"You'd sacrifice your own life – and everyone else's – just to prove a point?" asked Lupin, quietly. "Very well. Harry – will you lend Sirius your wand?"

It obviously hadn't occurred to Snape that they might resort to this option, because he lost a little of the smug look he'd carried, and said quickly:

"There is no need for that. I was about to offer to do it myself: Then at least I can make sure it's done properly. I doubt Potter or anyone else has the necessary knowledge to perform the task – " He frowned so savagely at Hermione as she opened her mouth to disagree that she subsided quite quickly – "And, as I've said – even if Black does borrow Potter's wand, _I_ shan't be satisfied until I have added my own restrictions."

"Fine," said Lupin. "But let me suggest that you do it quickly: it must be nearly dark by now. The moon will rise soon. Do you know any charm that won't be affected by blocking curse?"

Sirius was snapped out of his trance at Lupin's mention of the time, and forced himself to look at Snape.

"Well?" he snarled. "Do you?"

Snape shrugged. "I'm sure that the normal charm will work. If Weasley can conjur coffee out of thin air then I'm sure we can accomplish something as simple as a few chains. I think it's just stronger magic that has been blocked. Why don't we find out?"

Sirius looked at him for a moment, then shrugged back. "Fine," he said. 

Snape stared about him. "Let's see…" he said softly, his gaze alighting on the dungeon's walls, and a coil of metals chains affixed to one of them. "Yes… that should do… Well, if you're ready, Black? Lupin?"

Harry turned away to talk to Ron and Hermione, who were still sitting hunched up and miserable with Hagrid. He didn't want to embarrass Lupin by watching him be humiliated by Snape – which had obviously been the Potions master's intent – and instead joined in the others' silence, which was just as depressing. Several times Harry opened his mouth to speak, but on each occasion he closed it again before any words ensued. He couldn't think of anything appropriate to say.

"Harry?" called Sirius, with a hint of laughter in his voice. Harry twisted round to behold the rather bizarre sight of Snape and Lupin swathed in the chains, and stared blankly at his godfather.

"What happened?" he enquired.

"Snape got a bit too enthusiastic. Can I borrow your wand? He still won't let me have his – but I'd better get him out of there, I suppose – Moony'll be transforming soon…"

Harry handed him his wand. It seemed that even a simple spell like the one Snape was trying to accomplish was not easy. 

Soon the Potions master was detached from the chains and glaring at Sirius as though it was his fault he had ever been entangled with them in the first place. 

"Shall we continue?" he spat, turning to Lupin and giving an annoyed flick of his hand. A chain wound its way round Lupin's thin body, and soon it was joined by many more. Sirius watched the entire procedure with a frown and an air of impatience; but, more for Lupin's sake than his own, Harry suspected, he said nothing to Snape. When he was apparently satisfied, Snape gave the soon-to-be wolf a long look up and down, allowed a thin smile to grace his lips and moved away to sit down. When he had gone, Lupin smiled at the other two.

"What time is it?" he asked. Sirius looked at his watch.

"Almost nine, now," he replied.

"Well, Harry, it seems that I'll be in an ideal position to give you a practical lesson on werewolves, in about half an hour, I'd say. I won't hold it against you if you choose not to attend…"

Harry laughed. They stayed with Lupin for another five minutes that seemed to drag on into eternity, and then Lupin made to look at his own watch. Moving his wrist to his face, he suddenly jumped in surprise – and so, too, did Harry and Sirius: for the chains had snapped, and a kind of despair covered Lupin's face. 

"We need something a little stronger," he said, as the rest of the chains disintegrated. "Or I don't like to think what could happen."

Neither did Harry. Leaving it to Snape and Sirius to sort out, he rejoined his other friends – who, apparently fed up with their quiet, were now listening to Hagrid telling them about his hopes for next year's Care of Magical Creatures classes and the possibility of rearing a species of pygmy dragons. Morosely, Harry wondered if they would even face a next year, and he sat down a little way away from them, expression bleak. 

Sirius came to sit down next to him. 

"Did you fix the chains?" asked Harry, more for the chance of conversation than because he really wanted to know.

"Snape's dealing with it," was all Sirius said, and then abruptly changed the subject. "Harry – I don't know why Voldemort hasn't killed the rest of us, if all he wants is you. All I can guess is that he intends to use us for something. But you must promise me now – that you won't do anything foolish – "

Harry laughed, darkly. "Foolish," he repeated. "Well, I'll try…"

"You know what I mean," said Sirius. His face was deadly serious. "Voldemort will be back – I'm guessing tonight – I don't think he plans to starve us to death… But he can't be in his full power yet or he wouldn't have gone to all these lengths. And we would all – and especially you – certainly be dead by now. If only Dumbledore were here – " He broke off, distractedly, and gazed around as though he expected the Headmaster to appear out of nowhere. But there was nothing. 

Harry looked moodily around him. He had caught the gist of what Sirius was saying: in his own way, his godfather was urging him to do whatever was necessary – do what only Harry would have the strength to do – against Voldemort – and not worry about the consequences. Not worry about what might happen to himself, or Ron or Hermione, or Hagrid, or Lupin – or even Snape. Harry frowned as he considered the last name. Would he feel guilty if Voldemort did anything to Snape? After all, he had been a Death Eater…

__

Had been a Death Eater, repeated Harry to himself. _Had been_. Wasn't any more. Yes, he'd feel bad if Voldemort decided to harm the Professor in any way… Harry wouldn't wish his parents' fate on anyone. The screams and shouts he had heard the year before last, when he'd been anywhere near a Dementor… Harry shuddered as he recalled them. They were still too vivid: his mother begging Voldemort to take her instead of Harry, his father trying to protect them both – and then the laugh of Voldemort as he ignored them. No. Harry did not want that to happen to Snape. 

The Professor just couldn't seem to get the measure of his attitude towards them right. One minute he was amiable enough: the next, he was busy chaining up Remus Lupin and enjoying every minute of doing so. Cornelius Fudge had been right that time, thought Harry, when he had helped Sirius escape and Snape had all but had an epileptic fit as a result. The man must be unbalanced. 

"Why's he have to look like he's having such a good time?" said Ron, suddenly there beside him, scowling at Snape as he conjured chains from the end of his wand. "I'd have thought after all we've been through, surely he'd have stopped trying to get at him all the time?"

Sirius shook his head sadly. 

"I don't know," he said. "I sometimes wonder, if Snape could only see what Remus has to go through when he transforms, he wouldn't treat him like… like he does. It's terrible, Ron. Takes years off your life just to watch it…" He stood up, and shook himself, abruptly. 

"Come on," he said. "We ought to give him some privacy… he always hated being watched when he transformed. I'll change myself when he's finished – I should keep him company, make it better for him."

Ron and Harry were only too glad to go and join Hermione and Hagrid instead. They had no wish to witness Lupin transform. Sirius sat with them for a while, distracting them while, in the background, they heard the first wolf-like sounds coming from their old professor. 

"I think I'll transform now," said Sirius. "Try and calm him down… I shouldn't imagine he'll be too happy when he finds he's tied up like that." He frowned to himself, and then froze. Scowling even more, Harry watched curiously as he obviously battled with something. 

" – Damn – " Sirius looked like he was struggling very hard. Finally he seemed to give up. "Can't even do that," he growled – and although this sound was suspiciously canine, Harry admitted he wasn't even remotely resembling the big black dog he was used to seeing. Sirius gazed miserably at where his friend was now fully-fledged wolf, and Snape was adding the finishing touches to his restraints. 

"There," he said, rubbing his hands together. "That should hold." And he retired to his corner and ignored them. 

The next few hours passed as a monotonous and incredibly noisy blur for Harry. He was exhausted but he couldn't sleep: resolutely determined not to look at Lupin as a wolf in case it affected the way he saw him as a man, Harry had his back to the creature. But this did not stop the howls from penetrating his ears: the anguished sound did nothing to ease the apprehension that seemed to fill every square inch of Harry's body, and combined with the now familiar throb in his temple they caused him to feel slightly nauseous. He needed a distraction. 

"Why didn't You-Know-Who take our wands?" mused Ron loudly, over the noise. "Did he forget?"

"I doubt it," said Sirius glumly. "I don't think he needs to. He's done something the field of magic down here… the strongest thing we've been able to do is chain Moony up – you couldn't even get light except by using a non-standard spell, could you? I'm not quite sure, to be honest, Ron. I don't pretend to even begin to understand how Voldemort's mind works. And we're probably better off not knowing."

Harry fervently agreed. He dozed off into a semi-conscious slumber for perhaps an hour: more out of the desire to avoid conversation with any of his friends than anything else, and partially also to try and block out the howls coming from the wolf. It didn't work: they sunk into his subconsciousness and turned themselves into a siren in his hazy dreams. Number Four Privet Drive was on fire, and the engines' were screaming their way to the rescue… But they weren't in time. The house was engulfed in flames. Harry stared at it numbly. His family – even family such as it had been – all gone, now. All dead. All because of him.


	21. 21

He woke with a start before he could see the outcome of his dream and was a little surprised by the sheer relief that swamped him on finding that his aunt, uncle and cousin were (as far as he knew) still alive and well. How odd, thought Harry. He turned to look at his companions. 

Hermione had slumped onto Ron's shoulder and looked asleep: Ron was awake and seemed highly uncomfortable with the situation, as one shoulder was now considerably lower than the other and he was having to shrug the other one higher and higher to compensate for this. But he did not wake Hermione, and, as he caught Harry's eye, he winked. Harry felt something die inside him. What if his friends were killed? he thought. And perhaps they worst thing was that he knew if they were they wouldn't blame him. It wasn't fair.

Sirius was resting against one of the walls talking in a low voice to Hagrid. Harry couldn't hear what they were saying – but he didn't try to listen, because at that moment his attention was distracted by Snape. The Potions master was sitting with his back leant against the wall and his head resting on his knees, looking at least as bad as Harry felt. He watched him curiously.

The man kept sneaking little half-glances up at Lupin, and wincing every time he howled. Harry felt vaguely surprised by the distress on his face. At each howl, an extra notch of desperation was added to his countenance: it seemed as though any minute he would – 

"Silence!" he roared suddenly, glaring at the wolf with curiously wide eyes, and waking Hermione from her slumber.

"'E can't hear yeh, Professor," said Hagrid, regarding Lupin's wolf-form fondly. "'E's a wolf."

Snape turned to the gamekeeper savagely. "He isn't a wolf," he snarled. "He's a monster. And he _will_ stop that howling…" He took a step towards the chained wolf. Hagrid's expression changed in an instant. 

"Wolves howl, Professor. It's what they do," said Hermione nervously. "Even werewolves. It's natural."

"You'd howl if you were chained up there like that," added Ron – but very quietly.

"But he's _not_ natural!" shouted Snape, taking another stride forwards, quite oblivious to both Hagrid and Sirius's rapidly darkening faces. He drew his wand, and pointed it at Lupin. "A muzzle…" he said. Sparks flew from the stick he held in his hand, but no muzzle appeared: Lupin's howls grew deeper at this and quite suddenly Snape hurled the wand from him, striking the animal just above its lip. This resulted in a very surprised looking wolf: for a moment, the howls ceased, to be replaced by a quiet little whimper and a reproachful glare from the big yellow eyes – and then Hagrid was there. He charged at Snape, his huge hands clasped round the man's throat, and the Potions master clucked and scrabbled at his neck, obviously asphyxiating. 

"Leave 'im alone!" the giant roared. "Sweet little wolf – 'e ain't done anything to yeh – "

Quickly, Sirius snatched Hermione's wand from out of her hand and pointed it at Hagrid, just before he squeezed Snape's neck too hard.

"_Stupefy_!" he roared, and Hagrid slumped to the floor like a two tonne sack of frog liver. Snape collapsed at the same time, fingers clutching feverishly at his throat as he apparently tried to reassure himself that it was still there, and croaking: no one moved to help him. Sirius looked sadly down at Hagrid.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "But I'd hate to see you get into trouble because of him." He spat the last word out. Pointing Hermione's wand at Hagrid, he gave a flick of his wrist. "_Mobilicorpus_," he said. 

But instead of getting up, as Harry and the others had expected him to, Hagrid stayed where he was: after looking at Hermione's wand in alarm for a second, Sirius swiftly knelt down and rolled the giant onto his side, examining his head. After two minutes almost static with worry, he looked back up again, relieved.

"He's OK," he said. "Must've knocked himself out on the floor. He'll come round in a minute. Maybe it would – er – best to leave him for a moment… just in case he decides to defend Remus again…"

Harry had to agree. Like Sirius, he didn't want Snape making life hard for Hagrid when – if – they ever escaped from the dungeon. 

"What about him?" asked Ron, waving at Snape. The Potions master was still recumbent on the ground, having difficulties breathing. He seemed winded. "Hadn't we better – y'know – do something?" He flapped a vague hand. 

For a moment, Sirius looked inclined to say no, but then stepped forwards reluctantly. However, he didn't reach the prone man: a soft groan alerted the four members of the company that still remained upright that Lupin was returning to his human form. The hair on his face and arms grew less: soon he was back in his recognisable – albeit more scruffy-looking than usual – form, and was looking about him in mild astonishment. 

"…Been busy…?" he said weakly. 

Sirius explained briefly about Snape's aversion to werewolf howls and his attempts to stop them – and Hagrid's intervention. Lupin raised his eyebrows.

"I'll admit," he said, rubbing his jaw against his shoulder where Snape had thumped him, and looking down at Hagrid's unconscious form, "That's the first time I've been called_ sweet_ before. Hagrid has an – er – unusual taste in animals, I remember."

Harry, Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. They knew only too well how far Hagrid's 'unusual taste' stretched – it had got them into enough trouble in the past. By Hagrid's standards, a werewolf was positively cute.

Snape was stuttering almost incoherently as he finally managed to stand up. "Mangy – flea-bitten – "

"I am _not_ mangy, or flea-bitten!" replied Lupin, with the nearest Harry had ever heard him come to indignation. He laughed, and Lupin winked at him. Harry had a feeling that Lupin was trying to lighten up the atmosphere a bit; and it had obviously worked, because Hermione was starting to giggle, glad for the excuse to let out some of the tension that had been creeping up – and if it was at Snape's expense, well, all the better. The nightmare-like feeling of the last few hours had begun to dissolve.

"You were looking a tad pasty, actually, Moony," grinned Sirius, playing along. Lupin gave a grunt of mock disgust.

"You'd be looking pasty if you'd been chained up here like this for the last seven hours," he retorted. "Speaking of which, Padfoot, do you think you could – " Suddenly, Lupin broke off in mid-sentence. He was looking over their shoulders and, as everyone's backs were turned to whatever it was he could see, there was a puzzled pause while the small company tried to fathom why Lupin's face had suddenly lost a great deal of what little colour it had. 

But when Harry turned round, it didn't take him long to work it out. Voldemort had returned. 


	22. 22

He was standing at the top of the long flight of stairs that led down to their prison, and he seemed to be sniffing. Harry felt something flung over him and, not knowing what it was, he panicked, and kicked out at the nearest thing. Unfortunately that was Snape, and Harry felt a hand reach out and smack him none too gently on the back of his head.

"Silence!" hissed Snape. Twisting to look at him, Harry realised to his amazement that the professor had actually had the presence of mind to envelope himself and Harry – along with Ron – in the Invisibility Cloak. Harry's heart soared. There might be some hope left: Voldemort couldn't see them!

Voldemort began his descent, eyes flickering around the dungeon and taking in Hagrid, Hermione, Sirius and Lupin: any worry Harry had had that he could see through the Invisibility Cloak vanished as he missed the silent threesome completely and settled instead on the chains that held Remus Lupin, and Hermione, who had been about to try and release them. 

"_Expelliarmus,_" he said, casually, and Hermione's wand flew out of her hand towards him. Evidently the blocking curse did not apply to his own magic. He tucked it into his belt, along with Sirius and Lupin's. He smiled. "And where is Harry?" he asked, almost paternally. 

No one answered.

"I see there are a few of our company missing," Voldemort observed, stepping forwards. "Potter… his red-haired friend… my _faithful_ Mr Snape…" There was a bitter rise in his voice at the last word, and Harry surprised himself by feeling rather glad that Snape wasn't exposed to Voldemort's anger. Automatically, he put a hand to his forehead – no fever, though… He shook himself. Maybe he had just subconsciously began to re-evaluate his and Snape's relationship. Maybe, he thought suddenly and hopefully, he was dreaming. 

"So," continued Voldemort, stopping opposite Lupin and Hermione, "What I would like to know is – where are they?" He splayed his hands in front of him, still smiling pleasantly. "You see, I can't very well kill him if I don't know where he is."

Sirius, Hermione and Lupin remained silent: Hagrid had not stirred from his stupor, and Voldemort took yet another step towards Hermione and Lupin, still hanging from his chains. Sirius made as if to move towards him, and with a sudden snaking movement Voldemort had him covered with his wand – he muttered something quietly, and Sirius could no longer move his feet. The momentum he'd had carried him forwards just enough to drag him to the ground; Voldemort laughed as he overbalanced and toppled painfully to his knees. 

"Would either of you like to tell me where Harry is?" Voldemort asked Hermione and Lupin mildly. "Do go on," he prompted, as neither of them answered. "Mr Lupin?"

"I don't know," said Lupin. 

"Come now. Surely you don't expect me to believe that? Would Harry Potter, the _great_ Harry Potter run and abandon his friends? Would he leave, without telling them where he had gone?"

Lupin shrugged, as best he could whilst encumbered by the heavy chains. "I don't know," he repeated. Voldemort sighed in mock sorrow.

"But it's such a simple question. I'm sure a man – sorry, _werewolf_ – of your credited intelligence can have no problems in understanding it. I've asked you twice: Now, I suggest you answer me, before I lose my temper. Where is Harry Potter hiding?"

"I don't know," said Lupin, again. In an instant, all pretence at joviality had vanished from Voldemort's countenance as he struck Lupin hard across the face and directed his wand at him. Sirius strained against the invisible chains about his feet. Hermione looked fit to faint.

Lupin raised his head back up from where it had cracked back onto the stone wall. 

"_Where – is – Potter_?" snarled Voldemort again, leaning even closer to him. The prisoner stared back at him without blinking, almost making Ron almost laugh when he moved his head away slightly as though the smell of Voldemort's breath was distasteful to him. 

"I've told you," he said calmly, for the fourth time since Harry had been watching, "I have no idea. I'm afraid you can't make me tell you what I don't know."

Harry winced as Voldemort flung his wand at him in irritation and red sparks flew at Lupin's body like fire – then started in horror as the wizard moved on to Hermione. She looked terrified.

"…Though I'm sure," continued Lupin as he saw this, " That my saying so won't stop you from enjoying every minute of trying." 

He had managed to successfully divert Voldemort's attention back onto himself, and Harry saw Hermione almost crumple in relief. Voldemort hit Lupin again and Harry had to admit that Lupin appeared to be right: he did look like he was enjoying himself. Sirius took the opportunity of the distraction Lupin had provided to yank Hermione away – she had seemed frozen to the spot, dazed with terror, and Harry couldn't blame her; he watched in a silence that was proving harder to keep by the second as she buried her head into a surprised-looking Sirius's shoulder and sobbed loudly.

"Silence!" roared Voldemort, spinning round. "You – " he pointed his wand at Hermione, "Come here. Now." 

As though moving against her will, Hermione pulled herself away from Sirius and stepped forwards stiffly. Harry had to stifle a warning cry with his fist: Ron was fidgeting next to him, and Snape clamped a hand over both their mouths. Harry fought the urge to bite him; his skin tasted horrible. 

"So, little girl… since the werewolf won't talk, perhaps you would oblige me?" He reached out and touched her cheek with a horrible gentleness. Hermione shuddered, but seemed unable to do anything to stop him. Harry gagged. 

"Leave her alone," said Sirius quietly, still trying desperately to move his feet and falling over as he did so. "Get your hands _off_ her."

Voldemort looked at him, amused. "How touching," he replied. "But I hardly think so…" Suddenly, his hand pinched Hermione's chin so hard she squealed, and he forced her head up to look at him. Harry and obviously Ron – who was clenching and unclenching his fists so hard Harry was sure they must be bleeding by now – couldn't take any more of it. Before he got a chance to move, however, Remus Lupin and Sirius both acted at the same time: Sirius, who was just within reaching distance of Hermione from where he lay prone on the floor grabbed her back by her robes, and she fell, heavily, to the floor. At the same time Lupin lashed out with his foot and caught Voldemort in the small of his back, causing the wizard to cry out in pain and wheel round furiously. 

Harry could no longer stand by and watch his friends be attacked like this by Voldemort. If it was him he was after, then he'd get him… Flinging the Invisibility Cloak from him whilst at the same time being careful not to let it slip from Ron and Snape, he charged at Voldemort and skidded to a halt just in front of Lupin. Hermione let out a little shriek. 

"So…" hissed Voldemort, disturbingly unperturbed by Harry's dramatic entrance. "The prodigal hero returns. How nice of you to grace us with your company. Now: if you would like to go and stand over there, quietly, by your godfather… You will remain silent, Harry. You will not utter a single word until you are spoken to, or you shall be guilty of causing a great deal of pain to one of your friends. Believe me – I have no scruples in killing them in order to retain your obedience."

Harry stared at him, incomprehension spread across his face. Why wasn't Voldemort trying to kill him? Why hadn't he even disarmed him? He could easily – 

"And I would not try to use any magic on me, Harry," added Voldemort as though he could read his mind. "Because I can break any one of your friends' scrawny little necks with a single click of my fingers. Yes – even the two who are too shy to visit me…" He suddenly reached out and whisked the Invisibility Cloak away from Ron and Snape – and Ron's face melted into disbelief as Snape shoved him roughly behind his own black robes. 

"Playing the hero does not become you, Severus," said Voldemort. "You know as well as I do that I could kill Mr Weasley just as easily with you in front of him as without. But, I suppose the gesture counts in some ways… That was always your problem, you see, Severus. You never truly knew where you belonged. Too nice to be liked by the bad, and too bad to be liked by the nice… Well: you certainly seem to have found your role in life now. Protecting little boys. How sweet. Perhaps you need a little reminder of where your _real_ loyalties lie?" 

There was a split second of dead silence while Voldemort pointed his wand at Snape, and then a heart-wrenching howl as the Potions master fell to his knees, clutching at his left wrist as though it was alight. Harry suddenly remembered the mark of the death-eaters, the black sign emblazoned onto Voldemort's followers' forearms to bind them to him – and that Snape had chosen to reject. Snape's eyes were blazing with a hatred that surpassed even that he reserved for Harry and the two surviving Marauders. He staggered back up to his feet, and stared Voldemort in the eye.

"You are nothing," he spat. "By yourself, alone – you are _nothing_."

"Ah," said Voldemort. "But I am not alone. My faithful servant will be joining me presently – and old friend of yours, Mr Black, Mr Lupin, I believe."

As he spoke, he wove an intricate pattern into the air with his wand, slashing the space above his head as though he were conducting an orchestra. As Harry gazed, fascinated, the air began to glow gold: it lengthened to four or five feet, and stretched down to the ground. Voldemort finished his muttered incantation with a flick of his wand, and a figure stepped out from the golden haze, surrounded by a light almost too bright to look upon.

It was Peter Pettigrew.

"Wormtail!" cried Sirius, trying to run forwards again and only escaping another fall to the ground as Harry and Ron grabbed an arm each and hauled him back up again. Pettigrew laughed at him. 

"Hello, _Padfoot_," he replied. "How… nice to see you. Not so big and brave now, are we? Not so clever?" 

"You little rodent…" Sirius was squeezing his hands together, obviously desiring Pettigrew's neck to be in between them. "Wait until I get my hands on you…"

Peter sniggered uncontrollably, as though Sirius had just made some wonderful joke. "It won't be your hands you'll have to worry about, Sirius," he said, apparently in stitches. "_My_ hands are the only hands to concern any of you… or to be precise: _this_ hand." He held up his right****arm, and Harry saw again the silver limb that Voldemort had given him in reward for sacrificing his previous body-part. He wondered what Pettigrew could be talking about.

"Yes," Peter was saying. "I didn't realise at first… I didn't know… But my master, my glorious master – he gave me this for a _purpose_. For revenge. I, the tag-along, the little fat boy you never really liked – who you only let follow you around because you felt _sorry_ for him – I can claim my revenge!"

"Mental," Ron was muttering. "Never did like Scabbers… always _thought_ there was something wrong with him…"

But Harry knew this was not true, and knew Ron still ached with the betrayal. However, he had no time to offer his friend comfort, because Scabbers, or Wormtail, or Peter Pettigrew was still explaining to Sirius what he was talking about, and Harry listened. 

"It tasted sweet," he was saying. "Revenge tasted sweet when James and Lily died. The first of the Marauders, and his goody-goody little wife…" Sirius, Harry, and Ron dived forwards at this, and Peter ginned happily as they were all rebounded by a shake of Voldemort's wand. 

"And then I thought I'd dealt with you – big, brave, handsome, funny Sirius – I thought you were tucked away safely in Azkaban – I thought it wouldn't be soon before you given a nice little kiss, and then there would be _two_ Marauders out the way. But that didn't work out." He sounded sulky. "And I thought that soon it would only be me and Moony. Me and – and that _thing_." He waved his silver arm again.

"So now you understand just how brilliant my master is," he said, and now he was walking towards Remus Lupin, too far away to listen to what he was saying. "You understand his beautiful, subtle plans… how appropriate, how fitting it should be that I could taste revenge and at the same time serve his plans… How much I will enjoy this."

He had stopped, and was staring at the wall with a curious mixture of loathing and fear on his face. Harry's mind raced wildly as he struggled to understand what the relevance of Peter's speech was, or whether he had, as Ron said, simply gone mad.

But Peter was no longer paying them any attention: his eyes were riveted to the same, one spot on the dungeon wall. He was staring at Remus Lupin.


	23. 23

__

Hey guys, here's the next one… thanks for all the reviews so far! I'm glad you've enjoyed it: only a few chapters to go now. 

Red. The Feathery ~ hope this was updated fast enough for you…? Thanks for your reviews ;) 

Paffy ~ Here you go and no, Lupin does not die (but then you know that - and he's got to come back for Book 5!). Neither does anyone else. Yet.

~M~

Lupin, now he was back in his human form, had been looking increasingly uncomfortable chained up against the wall even before his short interrogation by Voldemort: Harry thought that his arms must have lost their circulation a long time ago, and the chains designed to hold him tight when he'd been a wolf were cutting into his skin. He glanced up as Peter approached.

"Hello, Peter," he said, in a friendly enough tone of voice considering the situation. Peter sneered at him, and Lupin's eyes widened as he saw the silver arm. 

"Oh," he said. He looked strangely resigned. 

Peter stopped just short of him, and stared him up and down, appraisingly. 

"Remus," he said at last. Lupin said nothing, and gazed back evenly, holding his old friend's eye for a long time before Pettigrew finally tore his look away with an angry sneer: holding his silver hand high in front of him, he moved even closer. 

"You should blame yourself," he spat at Lupin. "You should blame yourself for James's death – for my _betrayal_ of him. I thank you – for forcing me to find better friends… a better master. And I plan to thank you properly, Remus; I plan to thank you properly."

Harry blinked at the odd exchange, still highly confused. He wondered what Peter could possibly be talking about. Beside him, Ron was staring at his ex-pet with such loathing that Harry could feel it radiating from him: he noticed Hermione had her hand grasped tightly round his wrist to prevent him from doing anything stupid. Good, thought Harry. Matters were complicated enough without Ron making them worse. 

Lupin had still said nothing, and Peter carried on. "It was your fault," he said. "I just thought you should know, before I kill you. If James and Sirius and I hadn't ever become Animagi then none of this would ever have happened… if they hadn't felt so _noble_, if they hadn't felt sorry for you – then I would never have been discovered by my Lord Voldemort."

"Then why do you want to kill me?" asked Lupin. "I'd have thought that that's hardly the way to prove your loyalty to Voldemort… killing the man you say caused him to find you. I'd be careful, if I were you, Wormtail. You sound as though you'd rather he _hadn't_."

Pettigrew looked like he was struggling hard with himself not to punch Lupin. However, he mastered himself, and carried on. 

"That isn't true," he snarled. "I know it, and my master knows it. I just want to make sure you're aware of your responsibility for James and Lily's deaths. If you hadn't been a werewolf – a freak – in the first place they'd still be alive now."

To Harry's dismay, Lupin seemed to accept these words. An expression of self-disgust had surfaced on his tired face, and Peter smiled exultantly. He brought his silver hand up close to Lupin's face, and touched him gently on the cheek.

Harry was not prepared for the result of this action. Lupin's head snapped sideways as though someone the size of Hagrid had struck him, and a deep purple graze blossomed across his cheekbone. Peter laughed hysterically, and tapped him again. 

"What's he _doing_?" gasped Ron. "Why's he – what's wrong with – "

"It's silver," came Hermione's glum whisper. "Silver – werewolves are… they're allergic to it. A traditional 'cure' for a werewolf is a silver bullet. They can't bear the touch of it. I remember reading it when Snape set us that essay to do. Remember, back at the hut, when you were ill, Ron? Snape's experiment? He wouldn't stop fiddling with his buttons – they were silver."

Harry could only stare in horror as Peter continued to touch Lupin with his silver hand: for such a gentle action to have such a hideous effect was terrible to watch. Lupin was all but unconscious: Harry winced in sympathy as Pettigrew suddenly thumped him round the face as hard as he could – which, noted Harry, was a rather pathetic attempt – and his head whacked back hard against the stone wall. 

"STOP IT!" he shouted, unable to contain himself any longer. Pettigrew jumped, but Voldemort turned to him, amused. 

"I thought I told you to be quiet?" he said mildly. "Dear, dear, Potter… it seems I shall have to ask Peter to give _you_ some lessons in obedience, as well as our tame werewolf there. Did you know, Harry, I could easily destroy him just like _that_?" He gave an elegant flick of his wrist and Harry heard Lupin gasp in agony. "But I won't," smiled Voldemort cheerfully. "I could kill _any_ of your little friends, Potter. The wolf, the dog – " Sirius's body was flung upwards from the floor with another wave of Voldemort's wand – "My old, faithful, _spy_ – " Snape gave such a howl of pain as he clutched at his left wrist that Harry's insides lurched at the sound. 

Voldemort was still talking. "The gentle giant who was foolish enough not to take up my offer of employment," he continued, and Hagrid, though still unconscious, began to moan aloud. "Or your _special_ friends, perhaps… the little witch has potential – perhaps I should recruit her…" Hermione, to Harry's surprise and admiration, spat at Voldemort and then let out a strangled choke as he pointed at her with his wand.

"_No_!" yelled Ron wildly, jumping in front of her, violently pulling his own wand from his robes and pointing it shakily at Voldemort. "Don't _touch_ her."

"No?" said Voldemort, raising an amused eyebrow. "Very well. Maybe the ginger brat? Maybe you would like to see your best friend – now what would be amusing… maybe you would like to see your overprotective little best friend try and kill me? I'm sure he'd be delighted to… it could be quite interesting to observe…" He raised his wand hand to shoulder height, and pointed it at Ron, who stared defiantly back and looked very much as though he would dearly love to do exactly as Voldemort had suggested. 

Harry clenched his fists at his sides. "Don't you _dare_," he said in a loud, clear voice. Voldemort laughed, and lowered his wand. 

"Ah," he said. "I didn't think you'd like it. You see, Harry, I _could_ kill each one of them… I could easily do that. But I'd like you to realise just how kind I can be, when the mood takes me… Now, I think the time has come for you and I to strike a little deal. Just how far are you prepared to go to save your companions' lives? How hard a bargain will you push? I have a proposition for you… See if it sounds attractive. I am willing to forego killing your friends in exchange for _you_. Give yourself up, Harry. Give yourself up like your noble, foolish parents did and I swear your friends will walk free. One life in exchange for six. Now, I can't say fairer than that."

Harry stared at him, the room spinning round his head. One life in exchange for six… yes… the odds were more than even: how easy it would be, just to give himself up with the knowledge that the others would live. Hardly realising what he was doing, he took a step towards Voldemort.

"Harry _NO_!" He stopped short at the sound of Ron's horrified shout. 

"Stop!" That was Hermione, dragging herself up from the ground and lunging towards him as though to pull him back. 

A choked cry came from Hagrid, evidently awake now: "Don't take another step, 'arry – don't move…"

"You're the only person who can stop Voldemort," said Sirius. "No one else has ever been able to. If he kills you – we're all lost."

"Do you really think he'd let us go, just like that?" added Remus Lupin hoarsely, despite Peter's attempts to quieten him. 

Voldemort sneered at them all. "Think it over, Potter," he said. "Remember what I can do…" Again, he flicked his wand over Harry's crowd of friends and each one cried out loudly. 

"Harry." Harry started in disbelief as Snape spoke. He couldn't remember ever having been addressed by his first name by the Potions master before in his life. "Harry – don't be so foolish," Snape gasped. "If it's a choice between us, and the rest of humanity… Don't be selfish."

Harry stood still, and thought. _Don't be selfish_… would he be classed selfish, in sacrificing himself, he wondered? What would be more selfish, saving his friends by dying; or saving the world – as everyone seemed to believe him capable of doing – by living? Harry let out a short and mirthless bark of laughter. The Boy who Lived. That was his job. He knew what he had to do – knew he had to give his friends' death sentence – knew he would hate himself for the rest of his life by doing so – 

"Harry?" said Ron quietly. "It isn't worth it. Destroying Voldemort is more important than _my_ life: don't do it – don't kill yourself. We need you. I'd rather die knowing Voldemort wasn't going to kill my family than walk out of here alive with you dead and him in power. Please, Harry. _Don't do it._"

"Ron's right, Harry," said Hermione. "This is more important than anything else. I don't mind – honestly I don't. None of us do. Please… please, don't do it."

Harry's face was screwed up in pain. What could he do… what could he do… 

Voldemort, he suddenly realised, was looking just a little bit worried. Did he really think he couldn't kill Harry? He'd failed twice, but surely with his new power… Still. He couldn't do what the others were asking of him. Harry opened his mouth to offer himself, but somehow the words stuck in his throat, and he walked forwards again instead. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he knew that he had murdered his friends. That would make him as bad as Voldemort himself. Voldemort grinned maniacally as he approached. 

And then, suddenly: "HARRY! STOP!" Sirius it seemed had decided to make Harry's decision for him. Somehow managing to free his feet and throwing himself forwards, he landed in front of Harry, blocking his way to Voldemort. With a roar of anger, the dark wizard pointed his wand at him. 

"Think of your promise," reminded Sirius mockingly. "His life for ours… if you kill me, it won't stand. So go on: do it. Kill me."

"No!" said Harry, thrusting his way in front of his godfather. This was growing farcical. Ron and Hermione had run to join them: and Snape, and Hagrid. Voldemort was looking confused. 

"You'll have to kill us before you kill him," announced Ron, determinedly. "D'you hear me? _You'll have to kill us first_."

Harry's head swam. It was happening again. His parents had given their lives to protect him, and now his friends were going to do it. No. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't right. 

"Your logic seems to be slightly flawed," came Remus Lupin's voice. 

"Shut _up_!" snarled Peter. There was a thump, a hiss from Lupin, followed by another thump and a cry of pain – this time from Pettigrew – and then Lupin continued, slightly breathlessly.

"It would work," he said, "If Harry was prepared to give himself up for us. Which he obviously is. But it _won't_ work if we're all equally prepared to die for him."

"Which we are," added Sirius. "You don't seem to have the measure of human emotion very well covered, Voldemort."

"Nonsense!" bellowed Voldemort, enraged. "I'll kill you – I'll kill you_ all_!"

"Now then," said a voice that hadn't been there a second before. "That would not be a very wise move."

Albus Dumbledore walked into the room smiling, and his wand was pointing straight at Voldemort. 


	24. 24

"_You_," hissed Voldemort, some of the angry colour draining from his face. 

"Professor!" cried Harry. Thank God, he thought. 

Dumbledore acknowledged them all with a pleasant nod. "Glad to see you're all… safe," he said. Harry thought he had been about to say 'well', but the Headmaster had obviously taken in the sight of the various injuries the little company had received. Ron's eyes were goggling: it seemed that his definition of the word 'safe' differed quite considerably from Dumbledore's. Harry was inclined to agree with him. 

"Well," said Dumbledore, his hand never wavering as it held the wand at Voldemort, "I must say I agree with Sirius on this one. You don't appear to have a very good grip on human emotions, Tom. But then, that's hardly surprising considering your relationship with your parents, I suppose. Well; never mind." 

Harry winced at the look of hatred on Voldemort's face. Peter Pettigrew had crawled over to his master, whimpering, and cowered back at the sight of Dumbledore. He had a huge bruise spreading across the top of his balding head where Lupin had apparently decided to fight back. 

"Are you going to kill him now?" enquired Ron, hopefully. 

"Oh, no, I couldn't do that," replied Dumbledore calmly. "Unfortunately, Ron, that time has not yet come. But, if he knows what is good for him – "

Voldemort, it seemed, did not. He had raised his wand and it pointed at Harry. 

"Harry," instructed Dumbledore calmly, "Draw your wand. And then do as I say."

Trembling, Harry groped for his wand and finally withdrew it from inside his robes, waiting for Dumbledore to tell him what to do next and breathing heavily. He had not the faintest idea what was going to happen. Voldemort was concentrating on him so hard that he could almost feel the malevolent glare penetrate him, and he was shivering uncontrollably. Everyone else had their eyes riveted to the three figures stood there: Dumbledore, Voldemort and himself. 

"Now," said Dumbledore, "I believe Tom will try the Avada Kevadra curse, Harry: you must be ready for it. With any luck, it should – "

He was interrupted by a flash of blinding blue electric light from Voldemort's wand. Harry gasped, and flung up his wand hand to give a counter-curse: but, to his surprise, it was not directed at him. The blue flew towards the rest of the room: aimed at Ron, and Hermione; at Sirius, Snape, Hagrid and Lupin; at Dumbledore himself – but not at Harry. Voldemort smiled triumphantly as his spell reached out towards Harry's friends, and Harry watched in terror, his mouth open in a silent scream. 

And then something odd happened. 

Almost as if it had hit a mirror, the blue light suddenly reflected back before it had the chance to reach any of Harry's seven companions. It rebounded like rubber, and fled back to one, central point: Voldemort's wand. The wizard's eyes were widened in some unidentifiable emotion: he shook his hand, trying to free it of his wand; he let out a scream that reached Harry's bones, a scream that contained such incredible pain it was almost unbearable to listen to. Then there was a loud explosion: Harry was knocked from his feet along with all the others. When he looked up, Voldemort and Pettigrew were gone. 

Slowly, he picked himself up and watched cautiously as the others did the same. He felt suddenly empty, as though drained of all his energy. It was over. 

"Tom miscalculated human feeling far more seriously than I thought," was all Dumbledore said, a twinkle in his eye. 

"What happened to him?"

"He didn't pay attention to Sirius's warning," said Dumbledore. "He made the same mistake he made thirteen years ago, Harry, when he murdered your parents and tried to murder you. He failed to take into account the fact that someone could die for someone else – or, in your case, several people would die. Your friends' willingness to give themselves up for you confounded him: he sought to place them under a curse – not a death curse, you understand: not even Voldemort would be foolish enough to do that while he isn't yet in his full power – but it malfunctioned. It reversed. It undid him – for a while."

"You mean, he's not dead?" asked Harry, disappointed. To his vast surprise, Dumbledore threw back his head and laughed.

"Dead! Dear me, no. I'm sorry, Harry, but we have a long way to go before we achieve _that_ goal. But – " he suddenly stopped laughing, and looked seriously at Harry. "But we're getting there. We have people willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to destroy him, and we have _you_, Harry: and I think that that is an extremely good start, don't you?"

Sirius limped up to put an arm round Harry's shoulders, and Harry smiled, as he pondered Dumbledore's words. Yes, he thought. That was good enough – for now. 

"Eh – Mr Dumbledore," boomed Hagrid, his huge frame suddenly appearing beside Harry's godfather and dwarfing him considerably, "Ah don' know about you lot – but ah think ah'd like to be goin' now… an' I think Mr Lupin o'er there's lookin' a mite peaky…"

Remus Lupin did indeed appear to be slightly the worse for wear. His altercation with Peter Pettigrew had left him decidedly the worse off, on top of his transformation, and with a sudden panic Harry wondered if he was even still alive: he ran towards where he was chained, his head drooping onto his chest, and let out a sigh of relief as he saw that he was breathing – albeit shallowly. 

Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "I believe Hagrid is right," he said. "We ought to be going. Sirius, if you could assist Hagrid in unchaining Remus, then I think I should be able to see Harry and the others back to – " 

Harry swayed. The exhaustion of the last few days finally caught up with him: he caught a glimpse of Ron's face frowning at him in concern as he went dizzy and the room span, and then, almost delirious with relief, Harry Potter fainted. 

__

Only one more to go after this! Whew. I hope you've all enjoyed it so far - review, review, review… J Thanks to everyone who has already. ~M~


	25. 25

__

The last one! Da da da dum… Well, I hope you've all enjoyed it

When Harry woke up again he was in the infirmary – a room almost as familiar to him now as his own dormitory. He'd spent many hours in here during his previous four years at Hogwarts, and doubted anything would change soon. Staring up at the ceiling, he wondered how the others were. Ron he could see, in the bed next to him: various empty chocolate wrappers were sprinkled over his duvet, and a half-melted chocolate frog was trying to raise its head up from his pillow in vain. Harry gave it a sympathetic grimace. 

Hermione he imagined would also be there somewhere – Madam Pomfrey never missed an opportunity to drag students into a hospital bed if she thought there was the slightest chance they needed medical care. And Lupin, too; Harry wondered what the motherly matron would make of all the wolf bites on his arms. But then, he reminded himself, she would have known of his condition when he'd been at Hogwarts himself. Harry wondered how old Madam Pomfrey was. 

He was considering whether it was worth trying to go back to sleep, when – to Harry's surprise and slight alarm – the door burst open and Professor Snape, with a nicely bandaged arm, was propelled through it as though someone had pushed him. He certainly looked rather reluctant to be there. 

"Professor Snape," greeted Madam Pomfrey, cordially. 

"Good morning, Poppy," growled Snape, his black eyes flickering around him. There was a silence of perhaps two minutes, during which Snape and the matron both appeared to be trying to think of something to say. Then Madam Pomfrey rolled up her sleeves.

"Well, if that's all…" she said. Snape shook himself, and looked like he was racking his brain furiously. His mouth was working, Harry noted, but obviously not in time with brain, because no words were forthcoming. 

"How… how is the werew – how is pr… how's Lupin?" he got out at last, the effort to enquire after Lupin's health in a polite manner obviously causing him some disturbance. The matron looked slightly alarmed at Snape's question. 

"Well… broken arm, leg and ribs… bruising, laceration, bite marks…" she reeled off. "But he'll live."

"Oh," said Snape, not sounding quite as disappointed as he might have done once. "And… the Potter boy? Weasley? Granger?" 

Madam Pomfrey consulted a clipboard. "They're all fine, Professor," she said. "Just in need of some rest. Thank you for your… concern."

Snape looked at her balefully then swept away in a billow of black robes. Madam Pomfrey tutted, and turned back to Harry, who had been pretending to be asleep and concentrating on not laughing at Snape's visit. Truth be told, he was rather shocked that the Potions master had come to see them: he had a suspicion that Dumbledore had had a hand in it. 

"You can stop pretending to snore, now, Potter," said Madam Pomfrey. "He's gone. And you, Weasley."

Ron and Harry sat up and looked at each other, grinning.

"All right?" they both asked at the same time. 

Madam Pomfrey bustled around, checking temperatures and supplying them with chocolate. Ron was still grinning weakly as he withstood a barrage of gentle scolding, while Madam Pomfrey scraped what was left of the decomposing frog from his bed. 

"How many times will you have to be told, Mr Weasley…" she began, and Harry drifted off as the familiar voice lulled him into a gentle doze. 

And then he sat bolt upright.

"Sirius!" he said. His godfather had entered unobtrusively and was sitting at the foot of his bed, eating Harry's chocolate and laughing silently at Ron's pathetic attempts to salvage his own food supply. He threw him a pepper imp and Ron stuffed it furtively into his mouth before Madam Pomfrey could stop him. 

"Ron!" she exclaimed. Then, at seeing Sirius, "No _visitors_! No – wait a moment. Sirius Black? You, again? Good Lord…" She disappeared hurriedly out of sight with Ron's dirty pillowcase. 

"What was all that about?" asked Harry, bemused. Sirius shrugged.

"I have no idea," he replied modestly. "But I remember I always did have a similar effect on her… I must have spent as much time visiting Remus in here when I was at Hogwarts myself as I do _you_, now, Harry. I think perhaps she got rather tired at my… er… sense of humour, eventually."

Harry could imagine. 

"How is Professor Lupin?" he asked. 

"Fine," said Sirius shortly. "Nothing he can't handle. He'll be fine."

"Good." Harry sank back into his warm pillows, and looked through the window as he mused. He didn't want to have to ask the next question, but he had to know the answer.

"Sirius…" he said finally.

"Mmm?"

"You know… you know you're my family – kind of…" 

"Yes." Was it Harry, or did Sirius suddenly hide a little grin of pride? 

"Welllll… you know I came to stay at your house for the holidays this year?"

"Yes…"

"Well can I come again next year as well? Can't I leave the Dursleys? Won't the protection work just as well with you as with them? Can't I – "

"Oh, Harry." Sirius's tired voice stopped Harry in mid-flow, and he looked up uncertainly. "You know I'd like nothing more than to have you live with me," continued his godfather – and it was his turn to stare out through the window now. "But it's just not _safe_. It was foolish of me not to realise that this year… Firstly, I'm a convicted murderer – the Ministry of Magic is still searching high and low for me – and what kind of environment is that to bring someone up in? I can't risk that, Harry. I owe it to your father, and I owe it to you. I couldn't place you in danger just because I'm too selfish not to realise what's for your own good."

Harry was tempted to point out that very few things could possibly be as dangerous as living with Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon – not to mention Dudley – but he waited patiently instead for Sirius to finish. 

"And secondly," he was saying, "This whole business with Voldemort… I don't have to tell you how serious it is, Harry. Work must be done now: The Order of the Phoenix must be reassembled; Voldemort _has to be destroyed_ and I – we – have to place that before any of our personal wishes. Please understand me. But Harry," he said, taking Harry's chin and tilting it towards him, ignoring the tears that threatened to burst forth any minute and looking into his eyes, "Harry, if – no. _When_ this is all over, when Voldemort _is_ defeated, and this little business of me having murdered your parents is cleared up, then I promise you we _will_ live together. We'll buy a house and have Ron and Hermione to stay every summer and Christmas and any other time you want, and _it will all be all right_. Honestly."

And suddenly he enveloped Harry in a hug – tentative to start with and then rocking him back and forth as he finally let go of his emotions and did something he'd never, ever done before. 

The Boy who Lived cried. 

Much, much later, when Sirius had been shooed out by Madam Pomfrey and everyone else was sleeping, their snores reassuring in the darkness, Harry was still awake. He re-lived every word of the conversation he'd had with Sirius earlier, and nodded to himself. 

__

It will all be all right.

Well – Harry wasn't so sure, at the moment, but if Sirius said it would be then he had to at least hope that he was right. Voldemort would be back, he was certain of it: but then, he thought, more cheerful than he'd felt for a long time, but then they'd already dealt with him once – and he hadn't won yet. They'd already faced the enemy: they'd withstood his attempts to destroy them – again – and they were all still alive as the living proof of it. They even – and this seemed the strangest and most bizarre achievement of all – appeared to have reached some kind of truce with Professor Snape. 

And all this before the school term had even started, thought Harry ruefully. Despite himself, he grinned. It was going to be an interesting year.


End file.
